


the bonds that break

by Ran



Series: bonded [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Basically, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Forgiveness, Found Family, Learning from mistakes, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, On BOTH SIDES, Yearning, as it is keith and krolia getting to heal the way they DESERVED, basically I'm taking s3 onwards and doing what I want, learning to forgive, like serious, like this is as much klance, nsfw but like, serious pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2020-09-02 12:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 71,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20275798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ran/pseuds/Ran
Summary: The sound of Krolia’s footsteps echo too loudly in his ears—a bass to the quick rifts of his breath, pounding in his head and tipping him over the brink. “Keith—”“Don’t,” Keith snaps, the click of his teeth only adding to the symphony of overstimulation. Krolia’s steps stop. Keith can still hear her breathing from behind him.“What you saw isn’t anything to be afraid of, Keith. The future is not something to fea—”“You’rewrong.There isn’t a way in hell that could be my future.”Learning to love is hard enough; learning to forgive yourself after losing love is even harder. *This is the sequel to bonded (in your arms) and is intended to be read after it*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, welcome back! I told you I had this sucker all ready to be posted!! Again, one million thank yous to froggy because let's face it, this fic would be a mess without her. Plus, she has practically spent just as much time on this fic as I have so she deserves the world.
> 
> This part of the series is really going to focus on forgiveness, and not just how it effects klance. I guess that would honestly be the overall theme for all three parts. Anyway, I'm super excited to share this with y'all. It was a lot different than what I normally write so it was a bit challenging; especially (hopefully) cutting this together in a way that tells two separate stories, together.

* * *

_Call me when you made up your mind but you won't_   
_Caught up in a way that you played my heart_   
_Only love could ever hit this hard_

_Oh, don't be scared about it_   
_Don't forget it was real_   
_Do you remember the way it made you feel?_

jarryd james, _do you remember_

* * *

  
Keith’s father used to talk about the sky as if it were a lost lover. He would sneak Keith out of bed during clear desert nights—a midnight that meant so much more when the early shift came at the station the next morning—and take him to the porch with the telescope already waiting. Keith would always wait with a buzzing anticipation when the forecast was predicted to be as transparent as the act Keith would put on, pretending to be asleep when his father would come knocking on the door. 

His dad would tell him facts about the stars; the formations; the history and culture. The way his father’s eyes would search the sky—looking for answers that cost more than the astronomy books Keith found hidden under the couch—captivated Keith and made him fall in love with the sky too. 

Some nights, his dad would tell Keith stories. Stories about the lore, about the myths surrounding the stars. He would tell stories about wars and punishments—Cassiopeia—mother and sons being reunited—Callisto and Arcas—about heroes and lovers—Andromeda. Mostly, he would tell Keith about the distance between the stars though; he’d talk as if he felt every inch between each brilliant light and it burned him up. Sometimes Keith wondered if that’s why his dad chased fires; if that burning got to be too much, so he put out the fires he could actually control. 

Keith’s attention would always fall from the telescope lens a few minutes into each lesson, listening raptly to the way his father would recite every story he knew about any constellation. There was always so much care given to every detail, every description, and Keith wanted to love those words that much too. 

Now, though, Keith knows it wasn’t what was hidden in the stars his dad loved so much; it was _ who_. 

The part of him that longed to see what his father saw in the stars on those nights felt like a wound he carried with him. It ached for so long he almost felt empty without it after the memories he shared with his mother healed the raw and gaping edges of that wound; he could see those constellations his father would map out in every new memory they explored together each day in space, slowly mending that ache. 

And while time in the abyss helped to heal some of him, it mostly gnawed at another wound that was already sore before he began his mission; one that was self inflicted and bled into a matching scar left on the person Keith never meant to hurt. He tries not to dwell on too many _ what ifs _ because he knows he can’t bring himself to regret his decision to take this mission—not truly, not when he would never have reached this sort of understanding with Krolia under any normal circumstances. It still burns most nights, though, when he remembers what he had to leave behind to move forward. _ Who _ he had to leave behind. And on those nights, he understands his dad more than he ever thought he’d be able to.

* * *

Keith doesn’t get the message until he’s back at the base; the mission had been long, no time to think of anything but getting himself and his teammates out alive. Each step back to his room is like walking through a bog, feet dragging and muscles aching at every movement. His suit is half-peeled off him—hanging around his hips, hitting the back of his knees with every dragged step—and he’s taking a moment to just breathe when he thinks to check his communicator. 

His heart hiccoughs in his chest when he sees the blinking dot next to Lance’s name. Not that Lance hasn’t insisted on messaging him despite a general lack of response from Keith, but each time, Keith has to swallow down the lump that lodges deep in his throat at the invitation to mend what he broke. Each time, he has the chance to pick up the phone and message Lance back, tell him everything he’s choked down for months now—how much he misses him, how he aches when he remembers their time together, how he wishes so hard that things could be different. 

It doesn’t help that he can tell Lance is lonely from the messages; Lance tries his best to hide it, but Keith still _ knows _ him—knows how to read the things he doesn't want anyone to know, and it stabs low in his chest that Lance has to hide things from him now too. That he’s forced Lance to hide those things in between invitations for casual conversation. Forced him into a corner where the most he’s comfortable sharing is quick run downs on new planets, new alliances—nothing personal. 

Nothing Keith craves to know. Nothing Keith wants to hold onto. 

Keith’s grip on the phone tightens as his eyes scan over the message. His heart trips back into gear. Just a simple _ hey_. Nothing else. Nothing hiding between the letters—and yet, it’s more than Keith has gotten out of Lance in these little glimpses of what used to be; what was the only home Keith’s known. 

It was sent about half a varga ago, no follow up. Keith stares it down, tapping his finger against the side of his tablet. He hopes the word disappears, or elaborates, or something that causes it to not need a response from him. Instead it stares back at him—challenging his resolve, and Keith isn’t sure if he can win this battle. 

Before he can start typing against his better judgement, another message appears underneath it. 

**Lance, ** _ 19:12 _

_Nvm. Forget that message, I was just being stupid. _

Keith rubs at his chest where an ache starts to grow, reading the words again, and then a third time—and then he throws the tablet onto his bunk, heading for the showers. 

This is what he wanted. 

* * *

“Are you ever going to tell me who you write to, Keith?” 

“Who says I’m writing to anyone?” 

The dead silence between them is heavy with expectation. Krolia doesn’t do well being on the receiving end of the _ playing dumb _ approach. Keith is starting to learn where he inherited his infamous penchant for patience. 

“You could probably infer, anyway,” Keith huffs. He tosses a rock and watches it bounce through the grass, pretending like he isn’t pouting. He’s not. He’d just rather stare at the same stars they’ve seen for the last year and a half than make eye contact with his mother. 

It only lasts so long though; Keith never wins the silent approach with Krolia. 

There’s a tug at the side of Krolia’s mouth that could be mistaken for a smile if Keith squints. She knows she won again. “I try not to read too much into the memories I do see, son. You know that.” 

“If it means we don’t have to have this conversation, consider this my permission to read all you want into my memories, _ Mom_.”

Krolia rolls her eyes, diligently resuming her task of sharpening another stick. There’s a growing pile beside her; Keith is pretty sure they don’t need that many spears, but he can’t deny her the activity. “I won’t force you. Just thought it might help.” 

Keith at least has the decency to feel a little guilty for trying to hide this from her. Really, there’s not much they can hide from each other out here. They’ve found—through trial and error—that the shared memories happen only when they’re a certain distance from each other, so mostly they’re able to avoid sharing too many. Of course, there are some instances that can’t be helped, especially at night. Or whatever they construe as night out here. 

But—if he’s honest, that’s one of the reasons he _ hasn’t _ shared this with her; it’s nice to have something that’s just _ his _ out here. Hell, even the wolf has started taking more of a liking to Krolia as of late. (Keith is fairly certain it’s the scraps she insists she doesn’t feed him; Keith is not convinced of her innocence, not at all.) 

He’s had to share so much with her, and Keith likes that he gets to keep his messages to Lance to himself. Not that Lance can respond; and not that the messages ever actually send, if the blinking red dots beside each message are any indication. It’s nice, though—the messages tether Keith to reality when he gets lost in the past. 

“I’ll tell you about him some day, Mom,” Keith tells her quietly, after the conversation has long since been dropped. The only indication he gets that she heard comes from the pause in the quiet carving she’s focused on. Then it resumes, and the moment moves on. 

* * *

Keith reads over those first few messages that—didn’t really cross the line between them, but definitely blurred something. Lance had kept everything professional between them when he texted him; clean, defined lines of their relationship—friendship?—their _ something _ helped Keith’s resolve to stay away. He got to be part of Lance’s life in a small way, through every word, and he hoped it helped Lance heal. It was a win-win. But then that crack—that tiny fissure in the wall between them couldn’t withstand the pressure of silence. 

* * *

It wasn’t long before Lance tried again. 

Keith can’t tell if he hoped Lance would just never message him again, or if the thought alone gutted him. Either way, the first time his tablet blinks with another notification is over breakfast a few days later, and Keith nearly scrabbles to grab the device. 

“Exciting news from Voltron, Keith?” Niemyera asks, long hair falling into the space her eyes would be. Keith's tray clatters loudly at his movements, and that wide mouth of hers smirks at him. Her ears twitch as Keith ignores the comment and slides open the screen, her answering grin enough to tell Keith she knows she’s being ignored, even if she can’t see him.

The Blade beside her—Irvyrion, who Keith has been resolutely ignoring every time he opens his mouth—grins through a mouthful of something close to bread. “I bet it’s some lass he left back with the Lions, yeah?” 

At that, Keith finally acknowledges him with a glare. 

“Or lad?” Irvyrion offers, his eyes mischievous. 

“Leave him alone, Irv. The kit is homesick,” Niemyera admonishes, and Keith would be grateful if she hadn’t started the teasing in the first place. 

Before Irvyrion opens his mouth to reply, Keith shoves his tablet into his pocket and stands. “The _ kit _ is going to go train. Something you may want to consider instead of stuffing your mouth, _ Irv_.” Keith turns on his heel, not letting Irvyrion see the smirk on his face at the indignant squawk he earns. Niemyera chuckles though, which makes Keith grin more. 

As soon as the doors slide shut behind him, Keith bypasses the training hall and heads straight to his dorm. His fingers drum against the screen of his tablet in his pocket. He didn’t finish reading the message, but he knew he wanted to be alone to read it. Each footstep gets quicker until he’s nearly sprinting back to his room, jamming his thumb into the scanner the second it’s within reach. 

Hastily shutting the door behind him, Keith practically flings the tablet out of his pocket and has to catch it. 

“Jesus, get ahold of yourself,” Keith mutters, forcing himself to sit on his bed and take a breath before opening the message. 

**Lance, ** _ 6:39 _

_ Hey, man. I know it’s stupid. I know it hasn’t been long enough for me to give in this much. But, like. _

**Lance, ** _ 6:41 _

_ I just want to talk to you. _

**Lance, ** _ 6:49 _

_ Is that ok? _

Keith reads the words again. 

And again. 

It’s not okay. 

He shouldn’t tell him it’s okay. 

His fingers shake has he holds the tablet between his knees, thumbs hovering over the _ N _ and _ O_. 

**Keith, ** _ 6:52 _

_ It’s okay. _

* * *

The messages help him remember there’s something beyond this lost patch of space; that there was a _ before_, and that there _ will _ be an after. He reads them until he sees them in his dreams, when his dreams are actually his—when they’re not some far off memory. Some days, they aren’t enough to keep him from jittering with that anxious bite in his bones. Some days, he writes back. 

* * *

**Lance, ** _ 18:23 _

_ You don’t have to say anything _

_ But I miss you _

**Lance, ** _ 19:12 _

_ I guess I did say you didn’t have to reply, huh _

**Lance, ** _ 19:13 _

_ g’night Keith _

* * *

While they didn’t have the luxury of being selective with their food, Keith is at least determined to make it taste a little less like something they caught while hitchhiking on the back of a space whale. Krolia has expressed many times how amusing she finds his determination—something she obviously hasn’t gotten tired of yet. 

“I believe your father would accuse you of taking after my ‘_bullheaded attitude_’ if he were here,” Krolia muses, her gaze angled at Keith from where she’s propped her head up on her palm. There’s something warm there; right between the sharp flash of teeth as she grins at Keith’s glare, and the way her eyes never leave him. 

Her eyes have been on him a lot recently; Keith always feels the presence of her pensive stare following him around their campsite. Keith felt the stare like an itch under his skin at first—but the distracted little smile she’d give him when he would ask what’s wrong told stories of unspoken memories, and he understood a little more then. It started to feel more like the way his father would watch him when he was a kid; the way he’d watch from the sidelines, face open and warm and softer than it ever was, encouraging Keith to _ go, explore, get out there. _ And Keith knew he could, with that stare there to watch his back.

After the stew begins to emit a sour smell, Keith groans and falls back on his knees. “I wish Hunk were here. He’d know how to do—_this_.” Keith waves his hand toward the bubbling _ something _ on their makeshift pan. 

“He’s the engineer, correct?” Krolia asks, bringing over two carved bowls, now that Keith has officially given up on tonight’s dinner. 

Keith nods, accepting the wolf’s probing nose under his arm at the smell of food. He lets him push himself under Keith’s arm, curling his short body toward Keith’s lap. Keith watches him fondly, knowing that when he gets bigger, these lapdog antics aren’t going to be as easily bearable. 

“And Pidgeon—this is the small one?” 

“Pidge, and yes,” Keith huffs out a laugh, adding, “don’t let the memories of Lance fool you; Pidge doesn’t like the Pidgeon nickname.” It’s getting easier, talking about Lance. Saying his name. 

Krolia hums in acknowledgement, somehow chewing her stew without a trace of disgust on her face. Keith is a little more expressive, which isn’t something he’s ever been accused of in his life. “But they are fond of him, I can tell.”

“I think everyone is, deep down.” At her slanted look, Keith adds with a little too much force, “_Way _ deep down.” 

Krolia makes a noise that is probably supposed to sound like agreement but Keith is nowhere near convinced. “And Shiro,” Krolia starts, carefully, “he is the one who—?”

Keith nods, edges a little softer but still there; Keith doesn’t know how to talk about Shiro to Krolia. He can’t tell if the thought of Shiro being there for Keith—teaching him, encouraging him, _ raising _ him—is too much for Krolia or not. He doesn’t know how to be careful with other people’s feelings; he never learned to protect people from his sharp, splintered edges. So he just doesn’t bring Shiro up. 

Krolia, it seems, has never been afraid of sharp things though. “He is a very good man. Older than his years.” 

“Yeah, I guess. He went through a lot, even before he met me. Before Kerboros.” Keith buries his hand deep in the wolf’s fur, watching as it disappears in the coarse black and blue forest. He doesn’t know if he can look at his mom with Shiro on his mind. 

“Through trial, comes truth,” Krolia agrees, and Keith is reminded of her attachment to the Blades. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that they both have made that same pledge—have agreed to such trials and have made it out to the other side. 

Shiro never agreed to trials. They found him, whether he was ready or not. 

“He knows how to take what life gave him and make the most out of it.” 

Keith watches from the corner of his eye as something small and far away lifts the corners of Krolia’s mouth. “Even when life threw him a boy who needed somewhere to belong

Keith pushes his bowl in front of the wolf and pulls his knees to his chest. He leans against them heavily, feeling like he needs to keep something from falling out. He doesn’t know how to open his mouth without spilling anything from his chest. 

When he doesn’t answer, Krolia pushes on. “I am glad you had him to guide you, Keith. My heart breaks with every day you were alone. But, knowing you had a hand to pull you up helps ease the ache.” 

Keith swallows around a swell of heat in his throat. “I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t found me, Mom,” he says, quiet and honest—dulling some of those edges with the admission. The wolf whines at something in his voice, lifting his head from the scraps to nose his way under Keith’s palm; Keith absently brushes his thumb across his muzzle and only slightly grimaces at the wet licks he gets in return. 

Krolia watches him—he can feel that stare again, careful but warm. After just a little too long, she whispers, “There is no use in dwelling on what is done. You grow from your experiences—and I could not ask for a better son than who grew from yours.” 

Keith buries his face in his knees, breathing deep. He lets that _ something _ trickle from his chest, watering the foundation growing between them. 

“I couldn’t ask for a better mom, either,” he breathes out, letting the certainty in his voice polish away the last of the splinters lodged in his heart. 

* * *

**Lance, ** _ 7:34 _

_ Pidge found Matt yesterday _

**Keith, ** _ 7:48 _

_ Is he okay? _

**Lance, ** _ 7:49 _

_ Yeah. They both are. _

**Keith, ** _ 8:02 _

_ I’m really happy for them. Will you tell Pidge for me? _

**Lance, ** _ 8:03 _

_ You should tell them yourself, man _

**Keith, ** _ 8:04 _

_ Don’t _

**Lance, ** _ 8:05 _

_ Not one pit stop in saving the world? _

**Keith, ** _ 8:11 _

_ You know why that would be a bad idea _

**Lance, ** _ 8:12 _

_ I don’t think I do. Sounds like a great idea to me. _

**Keith, ** _ 8:27 _

_ Don’t play dumb _

**Lance, ** _ 8:28 _

_ Well you know you don’t keep me around for my brain _

**Keith, ** _ 8:29 _

_ You’re right _

**Lance, ** _ 8:42 _

_ … _

_ Ouch _

**Keith, ** _ 8:44 _

_ Lance, I was just playing along _

**Lance, ** _ 8:47 _

_ Okay _

**Keith, ** _ 8:49 _

_ Seriously, I was just kidding _

**Lance, ** _ 8:50 _

_ It’s okay _

**Keith, ** _ 8:52 _

_ Are you sure? _

**Lance, ** _ 8:59 _

_ Yeah, don’t worry about it. _

**Keith, ** _ 9:03 _

_ If you’re sure. _

* * *

When the vision starts to fade from the edges of Keith’s consciousness, he crumbles to the ground. He forces the heels of his palms against his closed eyes—trying to push the image of warm hands and warmer sand out of his memory. Flashes of grinning lips pressing against the back of his neck, brown skin disappearing beneath blue water, a feeling of _ belonging _overwhelms his senses. 

The sound of Krolia’s footsteps echo too loudly in his ears—a bass to the quick rifts of his breath, pounding in his head and tipping him over the brink. “Keith—”

“_Don’t_,” Keith snaps, the click of his teeth only adding to the symphony of overstimulation. Krolia’s steps stop. Keith can still hear her breathing from behind him. 

“What you saw isn’t anything to be afraid of, Keith. The future is not something to fea—”

Keith’s head whips up. “That _ wasn’t _ the future.” There’s enough conviction in his voice that Keith feels it in his bones; seeping into his marrow and holding him steadfastly in place. 

Krolia’s mouth is still hanging open at the outburst, eyeing him cautiously. “It was, Keith. Time does not exist as we know it here. It is not linear; we will be exposed to various points from our lifetimes and we must learn to accept it—” 

“You’re _ wrong_. There isn’t a way in hell that could be my future.” Keith’s jaw aches from how hard his teeth are gritted together. 

Krolia’s expression hardens. “Why must you insist? That vision—that boy, I thought you wanted him.” 

“Exactly, Mom!” Keith shoots to his feet, fingers gripped into tight fists at his sides. “There’s no way he—no way _ we _ could—” Keith feels the frustration climb up his throat, choking around the words. “Not after everything I did,” Keith manages to push out through gritted teeth. 

There’s an infuriating softness that rounds out Krolia’s face. “Oh, Keith. Of course there’s a way. You’ve seen it—he will forgive you.” 

Keith shakes his head; one hand pulls roughly through his bangs and grips the back of his neck, trying to ground himself. “How would you know? It’s not like you ever gave Dad a chance to forgive you,” he spits out—the words spill like acid from his tongue, and he’s immediately burned by them. Eyes wide, Keith reaches for Krolia. Krolia takes a step back, her own eyes reflecting scorch marks.

“No, Keith. Just—give me a minute,” Krolia’s hand comes up to stop him from coming any closer and Keith’s lungs sink deep in his chest. He watches, that frustration dissolving into something more fragile, more frantic. 

“I just—I need a minute,” Krolia repeats, taking another step back; and another, and another—until she’s turning and starting for the opposite direction of their camp. Keith’s breath shudders up from his sunken lungs, watching her go. 

* * *

“Why are you here, Keith?” Lance’s fingers tighten against the doorframe, eyeing the silent distance between them. The darkness doesn't do much to hide the hesitant curiosity in Lance's eyes. There's something soft there, right below the surface—so soft Keith is afraid he's going to break it. 

He doesn't know how to tell the truth _ without _ breaking it, actually; he doesn't know how to say he can't keep himself away, that he feels so close to falling in love it burns him up in Lance’s atmosphere—can’t tell him that the moment he got Lance’s distraught message, Keith dashed for the door without thinking of the consequences. So instead, he asks, “Why did you message me?” 

Lance’s laugh is a hollow thing; it rings through Keith’s chest, knocking loose the resolve he’s tried to build up. “Fair enough,” he allows, and steps back into his room. The door closes quietly behind them, echoing against the walls. Lance keeps his back to him for a minute and Keith’s fingers twitch to reach out. He balls his hands against his sides. 

“Are you going to stay?” Keith knows Lance is asking about _ tonight _ but there’s a deeper, untouched request hiding in the question. When there’s a beat of silence, Lance finally turns and Keith crumbles at the way Lance’s eyes already know the answer. 

Keith has to gather back up all those pieces of resolve and try to assemble something close to self control. “Just a little while,” he says softly—Lance’s expression drops a fraction, and he can feel the pieces slip through his fingers. “Just let me stay a little while.” 

Lance reaches out with his fingers instead of his words, curling into the front of Keith’s shirt and pulling him close. Lance presses his face into the curve of Keith’s neck, puffing out a shuddering breath against that sensitive skin. Keith’s arms find their way around Lance automatically—his muscles remember the achingly familiar path with a clarity that burns in Keith’s chest. 

“You are allowed to stay as long as you want to stay.” 

The words find their way to his core; it’s a blow he knows he deserves, and he knows he has no defense against it. He can’t even argue because that would waste the few hours he gets with Lance—so he just tightens his hold and tries to let it be enough. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Lance stiffens in his arms and it vibrates out through Keith’s chest—through his lungs and into his heart—aching with the weight of knowing that such a simple question causes Lance’s guard to go up with him now. Keith knows it’s warranted; he can’t be mad at Lance, can’t be offended—not when he’s practically hired the guard standing by Lance’s heart. 

“Do you want to listen?” 

Keith huffs, just a little. “I do if you want to talk.” 

Lance rolls his jaw; Keith can feel it against the ball of his shoulder. Lance must be contemplating—it takes several heartbeats before he relaxes back into Keith’s arms on a sigh heavier than it should be. 

“I just—I guess it sucks, you know? I feel like I’m out of my element. I can’t do anything right.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Lance huffs, burrowing closer into Keith’s chest, and Keith has to shift to hear him again. His fingers trace a barely-there path over the fabric of Lance’s shirt. His fingertips drag upwards, the back of his knuckles brush downwards, his thumb rubs soft circles at the base of Lance’s spine; he lets his hands encourage Lance in ways his words can’t. Keith can feel the small drag of air against his neck as Lance breathes in deep. 

“Just—like, okay. Everyone has their place, right? Even Matt, he’s found his place with the rebels like he’s always meant to be there. Allura she—man, the way she flies Blue. You can tell she was meant for this.” 

Keith hums a little, because yeah—Allura has taken to being a paladin in a way that doesn’t surprise Keith. It’s in her blood. “You were meant for this too, you know,” he says quietly when Lance doesn’t elaborate. 

Lance’s breathing is even—slow and steady, and Keith feels the puffs against his skin. He’s missed this, missed it so much, but he forces himself not to get lost in the feeling, because he came here for a reason. When Lance doesn’t answer, Keith tightens his hold just a bit. Lance lets out a deep breath. 

“Was I?” The question is so quiet it sneaks through the air between them and nearly gets lost. 

“Of course you were. You _ are_, Lance. You…” Keith hesitates; how is he supposed to tell Lance how important he is without going too far? Without saying too much? 

“You fight so hard, Lance. For everything you want. You always have. You want this—you’ve earned it too. You…” Keith swallows, “you are stronger than most people I know, Lance.” 

Lance huffs out a laugh, the edges of it sharp with disbelief. “You know most of the Blades, Keith.”

“Yeah, I know but—” Keith rolls the idea around his mouth, trying to form the right words. He knows he won’t get another chance to give him this, for Lance to believe him. He has to say the right thing; his words tend to always come out so wrong , so he has to cull each word and place it carefully. “You _ care_, Lance. I’ve always admired that about you.” He presses the words against Lance's temple, lips brushing against wisps of hair and—and his heart _ wants _ ; it craves to give the comfort that’s so foreign to him and to show Lance how much he _ means to him. “ _ And you let that drive you—you don't fight just because it's the right thing to do, you fight because you _ feel _ the plight of these people. And even after the battles are won, you still _ care _.” 

Lance’s face feels warm against Keith’s skin and he wishes he could watch that color come to life; his face is just as warm though, and he’s glad Lance can’t see it. “I just—I feel like there’s something _ wrong _ with me, Keith.”

“Wha—because of Voltron? You really _ are _ meant for this, Lance—”

“No,” Lance’s forehead sweeps across Keith’s shoulder as he shakes his head quickly, “I mean. I just—ugh, why is this so hard to explain?” Lance pulls back and Keith wants to stop him, but he just lets his arms fall back to his sides. Lance runs his long fingers through his hair roughly—the short ends sticking up every which way—and then drags them down his face with a groan. 

Keith doesn’t know what to do when he just wants to reach out again, so instead he takes away the temptation and lets Lance have his space by crossing to sit on the edge of his bed. The space that used to feel so welcoming to Keith feels foreign now. The comforter beneath his fingers feels like a memory, the cubbies above the bed hold unfamiliar items—things are similar but not the same, accentuating the time that stretches between them. Feeling out of place and almost overwhelmed at the reminder, Keith shifts uncomfortably and draws one knee towards himself and holds onto it tightly. 

When he looks up, Lance is staring at him now, an unreadable expression on his face. His hands have fallen back down to his sides—fingers twitching forward slightly—but his hair is still sticking up ridiculously. 

“Um,” Keith can’t stop trying to discern that look, shifting again, “sorry, I can move—?”

At that, Lance blinks and the look is gone. “Nah, you’re fine.” He comes over and plops next to Keith, falling backwards and crossing his fingers over his belly. Keith watches him for a minute before shuffling back and mirroring him. 

Silence swells between them and Keith can’t take his eyes off the ceiling. The blue glow of the night cycle lights bounces off the shadows and Keith picks the deepest one to watch until it’s all he can see. He pretends he’s speaking into that void when he asks, “Do you think you know how to explain it now?” 

“No,” Lance huffs, “but like… Okay. It’s like every time I make it even a foot in the right direction, it’s like I get thrown a mile back?” 

“Did something, I don’t know—_specific _ happen?” 

“No? Not really, I guess. It’s just,” Keith can hear the grinding of Lance’s jaw beside him, chewing on the words, “I was doing so good, okay? Like, after you—left. Me. I had to build myself back up and like, Hunk and Pidge and hell, even Allura helped me realize that—I don’t know, I guess that I’m worth something?” 

His heart tumbles down his ribcage and knocks out his breath at the thought of Lance having to build himself back up and—and _ he’s _ the cause of it. _ You’re worth everything_, the words flicker to life on the back of Keith’s tongue and he has to bite his lip to keep them back. Instead, he whispers, “And? What happened?” 

When Lance doesn’t answer, Keith hesitantly turns his head and searches the vacant look on Lance’s face as he stares up at the ceiling. It’s wrong; Lance’s entire being always radiates warmth and strength and _ life_. The look on his face is absent of that light, and the shadows around them look darker, like they’ve inhaled all that radiance for themselves. 

“Lance?” 

Lance’s chest rises once, deflates, and then he turns his head too. There’s something unsteady and dark in Lance’s eyes. “It’s like every time I start to believe shit like that, there’s like… A voice—not a _ real _ voice, but like, you know—and it keeps reminding me of all the reasons that can’t be true. And most of the time I’m pretty fine at ignoring it. But it gets hard, you know?” Lance’s voice is small but imploring; like he doesn’t want to give the words up but he can’t keep them in, and he’s asking Keith to reach out and make sense of them. “I’m just… So _ tired _ of it.” 

Keith feels as hollow as Lance looks; a deep chasm from his heart to his belly, only filled with the heartache of knowing Lance has been holding this inside himself. His fingers inch across the space between them, so hesitant, but Keith needs to _ touch_—needs to fill some of that hollowness in Lance and maybe some of it in himself too. Lance’s eyes flit down to Keith’s hand for a few seconds that steal his breath, but then he’s meeting Keith’s eyes again and reaching out. Keith’s fingers brush against the back of Lance’s hand, feather light, and Lance turns his palm up. Their fingers fit like pieces of a puzzle that has so many rough and worn edges they barely fit together anymore and Keith takes a steadying breath. 

“Back before the Garrison, I wasn’t exactly the ideal foster kid,” Keith starts quietly, and some of that life comes back with the curiosity in Lance’s eyes, “so I had to go to the school counselor pretty often. I don’t think—well, back then, I don’t think there was any way for it to help me. I wasn’t ready, or whatever.” Keith’s fingers tremble with the vulnerability he’s laying bare, but Lance trusted him with something of himself again; Keith has to prove to him it was worth it. “But something I remember is when they said I may go through a period of anxiety or feel like it might be my fault, I guess? I don’t really know.”

“Not that I don’t want to hear this, Keith,” Lance says tentatively, “but I don’t really understand…?” 

Keith clears his throat, trying to find the right way to say it. “It’s just—they told me ways to cope? With that anxiety I might feel. Ways to focus myself, ways to subvert negative thoughts, stuff like that. And, well… It just sounds like that might be something you need too.” Keith looks a little below Lance’s eyes as he finishes, unable to meet his stare. 

“You think… I have anxiety?” Lance tries the words on his tongue, confused, but Keith hears something receptive deep down. 

“If you do? I don’t want to tell you how you feel, but—the thoughts you’re talking about. They’re not right, Lance. Not about you. Because you are—” Keith pauses, gathering the courage to raise his eyes to Lance’s again and startling to see him closer than before, rolled over onto his side and watching Keith with rapt attention. “You’re amazing, Lance. You need to let yourself believe it, though,” Keith finishes quietly. 

“What if I can’t?” Lance’s question is so small that Keith moves closer without even realizing it, trying to hold it close and keep it safe. It’s dangerous being this close—but Keith always skirts the edge of danger, breathing it in and letting it thrum through his veins and push him over too many brinks. And this is the kind of danger he wants so, _ so _ badly. 

“You can. You can do anything, Lance.” 

Lance’s eyes fall shut at that, something deep and longing set in the lines of his mouth. Keith’s hand moves to cradle that loneliness, curves to cup Lance’s jaw and smooth away some of that longing. Keith’s heart aches with each erratic beat; he’s so close to the cliff’s edge, toeing a line without regard for the fall. Lance’s breath hitches, eyes fluttering open and a plea tints the deep blue.

“Keith, _ please_,” Lance breathes the words out like a prayer that’s gone unanswered for so long. 

_ I’m sorry, _Keith thinks as he pulls Lance in by the back of his neck, leaning forward to meet him. “This isn’t a good idea,” he breathes, lips so close to Lance’s he can feel the tip of his tongue as it swipes across his bottom lip. 

“I don’t care, I really, _ really _ don’t—” Lance tells him and there’s a silent, suspended moment between their shared breaths before they’re both leaning forward. Their lips slide together like those puzzle pieces have been sanded down to fit back into place. Keith swallows down the whimper that drags Lance closer, hands coming to anchor Keith in place—fingers tangling in the hair at his nape, grip tight and desperate. Like Keith could disappear at any moment and—God, Keith knows he _ should_, knows he shouldn’t let this go any further. 

And then Lance’s thumbs cradle his jaw, pressing just enough to coax Keith’s lips open and Keith knows he’s so deep in this moment he can’t even think of pulling himself out. 

“_Lance _, God,” Keith breathes out, wrapping an arm around Lance’s waist and pulling him as close as he can get. His hand drags up Lance’s back, gripping between his shoulders tight enough Keith thinks he may crumble beneath his fingers. Lance doesn’t, though—he arches into the touch, seeking that contact, every inch of him pressing into Keith. The wet heat of Lance’s mouth finally cools the wildfire that’s been raging in Keith’s chest since the day he left; every quiet gasp, every muscle trembling with released restraint, every sharp clutch of fabric and skin—everything pours over the residual smouldering in his lungs. 

Chasing every inch of contact he can steal, Keith uses his grip on Lance to pull him over as he rolls onto his back, holding Lance close at the waist as he falls against Keith’s chest. Lance’s weight settles Keith firmly into the mattress, the pressure grounding in a way Keith has been missing since he launched himself from the safety of his makeshift family and out into the expanse of the Blade. Lance latches onto that anchor too, with fingers tangled in Keith’s hair and a hunger in the way he breathes Keith in and exhales every lost moment between them. 

Lance pulls back a fraction, teeth dragging Keith’s bottom lip with him, and Keith chases the kiss with a hand to the back of Lance’s neck—pulling him back in, licking back into his mouth in a messy and chaotic way that Keith would usually be embarrassed about, but he has to keep that taste on his tongue or he thinks he may starve. Lance falls back down on a deep groan that Keith swallows up, echoing it in a breathy gasp and shallow roll of his hips; Lance’s heart stutters against Keith’s chest before he’s diving back in on a whine that rattles in Keith’s heart, body pressing Keith farther down. And if Keith was buried in this feeling for the rest of his life he doesn’t think it would be long enough. 

The only way Lance manages to move his lips from Keith’s is to drag them down the curve of his jaw instead—sharp nips of teeth chased with a soothing tongue—finding a maddening path down the side of Keith’s neck. “I’ve missed you so fucking much,” Lance breathes into a sensitive patch of skin after he finishes giving it unyielding attention. Keith bites back a gasp at the overstimulation from the words against that reddened skin, and can’t help the searching grind upwards with his hips. Lance groans, head dropping down into the junction of Keith’s shoulder, a weighted breath in his chest. “You’re going to kill me, Kogane.” 

“I know, I know,” Keith pants, hands digging into the short hair at the back of Lance’s neck to find enough purchase to bring that mouth back up to his. Keith can feel that death on his tongue, can taste his own perdition in the way he can’t let go of Lance—the way he can’t do the right thing, ever, and always just _ takes _ what he wants. Keith knows he would present the world on an altar for Lance if he asked, but the thought of sacrificing this moment by pulling away seemed too great a challenge 

Lance seeks that damnation too, with opening thighs and wandering hands. Each hot, panting breath snuck in with tongues and teeth builds the inferno between them. Keith thinks he may turn to ash under Lance’s hands, each fingertip against his skin a brand he aches to press deeper. He wants Lance buried under his skin—so deep Keith can feel each breath and heartbeat and every spike of heat in Lance’s blood. Keith’s fingers dig into Lance’s lower back, thumbs bruising against his hips, pulling him so close it’s almost painful and it’s still not close enough. 

“_Keith_,” Lance groans—mouth falling slack against his, face pressing against Keith’s cheek, “Jesus, Keith, if you keep that up—” Lance chokes out, hips stuttering in an aborted grind against the V of Keith’s thighs. There’s an ache in the warning; the quick, little, uneven breaths against Keith’s cheek scream a plea for something _ more _, something that’s been locked up and forgotten between them. Something that stopped being an option the moment Keith left—the end of a path Keith blocked off. 

It’s that ache that sobers Keith up from the overwhelming feeling of Lance on top of him. His fingers loosen on Lance’s hips, one by one, and he forces his body to slacken from the tight coil of desire that’s wound him up. “You’re right—we have to—” Keith rasps out, dragging weighted hands from Lance’s hips to his shoulders, pressing his face into the side of Lance’s neck and breathing in a deep, calming breath. Lance doesn’t move, trying to process the sudden shift, something confused and cautious in the way his body slowly relaxes into Keith’s side after a few steadying moments. 

“That was really stupid,” Lance comments after their breaths even out; his hand lies tentatively on Keith’s chest. Staring at the ceiling with growing shame at the realization of how far he let himself go, Keith’s fingers slowly wrap around Lance’s and settles that grip into something more confident. 

“Yeah. It really was.” 

“I don’t regret it though.” 

Keith doesn’t say anything; he doesn't know if he agrees or not. He knows he shouldn’t, but he also doesn’t want to lie to Lance. “We probably should.” 

Lance scoffs, the sound vibrating over Keith’s chest. “It happened—we wanted it to happen, and we can’t change it now. So what’s the point in regretting it?” 

“Maybe so it doesn’t happen again?”

Lance doesn’t answer, though. There’s something heavy in the silence between them, but Keith doesn’t prod anything else out of him. He lets Lance nestle further under his pulse, warmer than anything Keith has felt in such a long time, and keeps him safe while he can. He owes Lance that much, at least. 

* * *

The fire is crackling and deep shadows are bouncing through the flames—Keith is lost in the heated dance between the coals and flares, his hands rubbing absently at the back of his neck. The flashbacks are getting longer it seems; the memories stretch so long sometimes Keith loses himself in them, half believing he’s actually back in time and is getting a second chance. He is always tossed back to the present, though—it’s enough to practically give him whiplash. 

By the time Krolia comes back to the camp, the embers have started dying and Keith is tossing another log onto the fire. He jumps to his feet at the sight of her, the wolf grumbling and readjusting from the sudden loss of his headrest. Keith wants to cross the distance between them and—and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to fix things when there are already so many stitches and scars between them. 

Krolia watches him from across the campfire. The light echoes off the valleys of her face, casting shadows for an expression. Keith can’t see through them. Keith takes a deep breath, ready to just let whatever will pour from his mouth douse those flames. 

“You cannot let your hurt ricochet into others, Keith,” Krolia tells him, voice controlled and barely a whisper through the space between them. A loud _ pop _ from the fire punctuates for her. 

Keith feels hot shame spread through his chest. “I know, Mom, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Krolia waves him off. “Yes, you did. In that moment, you did mean it. But that does not mean it reflects what you feel.” 

Keith swallows the rest of his words down. He nods. 

“I did not give your father a chance to forgive me. I took that from him with my choice. I knew what I was giving up; I had to make the choice I felt would protect you best.” Krolia’s gaze is guarded, something rooted within her hiding beneath the surface; Keith can only see dim shades of it. “I am lucky enough, however, to have the chance for you to forgive me, Keith. But that is your choice. I cannot—nor would I—change what I did. And whether you can accept that—can accept me—is entirely up to you.” 

Heat wells up behind Keith’s eyes, barely contained. “I know, Mom. I know,” Keith breathes out. “I am sorry, Mom. I really am.” 

Something eases that guard in Krolia’s eyes. “I know, Keith. Thank you.” She steps out around the fire, opening her arms. “Now come here.” 

Keith doesn’t hesitate, falling forward and meeting her embrace with one just as tight. He buries his face in her shoulder, breathing deep; Krolia’s face presses into the side of his hair, lips brushing against his temple so softly the heat pools up from his chest again. 

Keith breathes out. 

* * *

**Lance, ** _ 3:47 _

_ I can’t sleep _

**Keith, ** _ 3:50 _

_ I haven’t slept in a while either _

**Lance, ** _ 4:02 _

_ It was always easier to sleep with you here. _

**Keith, ** _ 4:07 _

_You shouldn’t say that. _

**Lance, ** _ 4:08 _

_ It’s true _

* * *

“His name is Lance.” 

“I know his name, Keith.” 

“Then why did you ask, Mom?” 

“I didn’t ask for his name—I wanted to know who he _ is_.” 

.

.

.

“Keith?” 

“He could have been everything. And I let him go.”

“Oh, Keith.” 

“My fault. Don’t feel sorry for me." 

“I don’t pity you, son. I feel your pain. There is a difference.”

“Yeah, I guess. I guess there is.”

.

.

.

“Does it ever get better?”

“Which part?”

“Pushing them away? Knowing you did what you had to do? Dealing with them hating you?”

“I don’t think Lance hates you, Keith.” 

“You don’t even know him, Mom.”

“I’ve seen him. Even the way he looked at you—after. He doesn’t hate you.” 

“Agree to disagree. You didn’t answer my question.” 

“No. It doesn’t get better.”

“I didn’t think it would.” 

* * *

When Lance opens the door, Keith doesn’t know whether to kiss him or punch him. 

“What the _ fuck _ were you thinking, Lance?” His words are more gravel than vowels, but Lance seems to translate them enough to be angry. 

“What do you mean, what the fuck was _ I _ thinking? I was saving Allura, Keith!” Lance growls back at him, shoulders widening with the fight Keith sees squaring up in his eyes. There’s something wild there—something that looks like it’s been waiting for this, waiting to pounce. 

“You were getting yourself killed, Lance.” Keith pushes through the door when Lance doesn’t invite him in, shouldering his way in like he still has a right to be there. The lights are off, but the bed is still made—the covers are untouched, like Lance hadn’t even tried to pretend to sleep yet. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he knew—knew this would be enough to get Keith here, enough to pick the fight his eyes are craving. A beacon calling a storm home. 

“I’m alive, aren’t I? The day is saved, isn’t it? No thanks to you. No thanks to the _ Blade_. Nope, that was _ Voltron_,” Lance sneers, slamming his palm on the close door button. Keith doesn’t even flinch at the thought that there’s no way they’re _ not _ being heard. “That was _ me. _” 

“You’re _ alive _ because you’re a lucky bastard, and that Allura was there to help you, asshole.” Keith won’t give him this. He won’t let him brush this off. 

“Which is it, Keith? Am I a bastard or asshole?” 

“You’re fucking cocky, that’s what you are,” Keith snaps, backing Lance up toward the wall, “and you’re not always going to be so lucky.” 

“That’s fucking rich coming from you, you know that, right?” Lance laughs at him—eyes wide and the corners of his mouth twitch in a cold, bitter smile. “You have some nerve coming to _ my _ room and telling _ me _ off for risking my life for the mission, Keith. You risk everything, every _ day_, with the Blade. If you even have anything left to lose.” The blow hits low in Keith’s chest; it syphons the breath from his lungs, leaving him burning bright only from the fire eating angrily at his heart. 

Keith leans in close, too close, but he can’t stop—he can’t let Lance win. Not this. He won’t let him guilt him into submission. “That’s different.”

“Bullshit, Keith. Don’t even try that with me.” 

“It’s not—” 

“Why not, Keith? How is it different? How is my mission different than yours? We’re both trying to save the universe, right?” 

“Yes, but—”

“Then what, Keith? What about the mission?” 

“It’s not about the mission, just—”

“Then what’s it about, Keith? Huh? What’s it—” 

“_You_,” Keith grits the word through his teeth before he’s lunging, closing that distance between them—Lance is grabbing the front of his shirt at the same time he’s stepping forward, yanking him forward hard enough their teeth clash as their lips meet. 

“Asshole,” Lance sighs out against his mouth; a dry, heavy sigh that Keith laps up with a searching tongue. That frustration fuels Keith, pulls him closer until Lance’s back is against the wall and his hands are clutching at Keith’s shoulders to keep himself upright. Keith retaliates with a low grip on Lance’s hips, fingers catching in his belt loop and hauling Lance closer. 

“Call me that again,” Keith dares him, thumb digging into the skin right above Lance’s waistband. 

Lance gasps, arching his back against the wall enough to use it as leverage to yank his leg up around Keith’s waist. Keith quickly slips his hand out from Lance’s belt loop to catch under his thigh as Lance rolls himself up and wraps his other leg around Keith. Lance doesn’t even try to hide the smug smirk he gives Keith after his stunt. _ Little shit_. One of Keith’s hands drags up Lance’s body—thumb skimming over his sides in the way Keith knows drives him crazy—until his fingers curve around the long stretch of Lance’s neck. Lance’s breath hitches in his throat and Keith feels it under his palm; his thumb catches on his jaw and Lance’s lips part slightly. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Lance sneers belatedly, looking down at Keith through heavy eyes and a mouth that can’t seem to stay shut. Keith watches that mouth as he does a slow roll of his hips within the cage of Lance’s thighs—dragging Lance closer, still with a tight grip on one of his hips. “_ God—_you _ jerk_.” The insult loses its heat as it stretches with Lance’s throat, head arching against the wall and lips parted. Keith watches his fingers spread over that warm brown skin, how each swallow and breath moves his fingers with it. 

When he looks up from his hand, Lance is watching him. There’s something so deep and hungry and _ wanting _ in his eyes it catches in Keith’s chest. Keith is transfixed; Lance is just so goddamned beautiful and it isn’t in the least bit fair he can’t keep this boy. He can’t lay beside him each night—can’t whisper reassurances when nothing seems certain—can’t give him the love that burns so deep in his gut. And Lance takes every _ goddamned _ opportunity to remind him of that, to push him past every limit he’s given him. 

Through lowered lashes, Lance dares him with dark eyes. He’s watching Keith—he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

He knows it’s working. 

Groaning, Keith pushes Lance harder against the wall—his thumb presses against the hinge of his jaw and tilts his head closer. The kiss tastes like ash and he wants to breathe in the smoke. It burns like all the almosts that twist between them and it scorches his tongue—billowing and snaking through his lungs. Keith may catch fire soon. 

“Remind me why.” Lance’s words are a soft command on an even softer gasp as Keith finally gains enough control to pull away. Keith knows this isn’t about the fight anymore. Knows it stopped as soon as their lips met. 

“You know why.” Keith kisses the words against Lance's throat. The fire simmers inside him, all that smoke sighed out against Lance’s skin. He can feel it leave Lance, too—the way his shoulders sag, bunching up to hold Keith closer. The way he melts into the heat of Keith’s tongue against his jaw—his neck—his shoulder. 

Keith feels Lance's indelicate snort vibrate against his lips. “It's kind of hard to remember when we're like this, so indulge me please.” The last word tips higher as Keith grazes his teeth across Lance's collarbone in retaliation for making him say it again. 

“It can't—it _ won't _ work between us, Lance. We wouldn't lead to anything good. A _ we _ would only hurt _ you_.” He speaks the words quietly into the dip of Lance's throat, a whisper of an apology he's said a thousand times by now. He knows he can’t always let Lance win if it turns to this; he can’t always be weak to his mistakes, to the reality of _ them_. Keith knows Lance is goading him, yet here he is again—already backing down because the guilt suffocated him more than the flames against his lungs. 

There's a frustrated energy to the way Lance kisses him next, not the same as before—more chaotic, less angry. His fingers dig into Keith's shoulders with something more than want, and Keith lets him; he deserves the small bruises Lance will probably leave, and a small part of him actually wants the small reminders of a _ them _ pressed into his skin. Lance’s hips press against his again, a slow and rolling grind that pushes the argument to the back of Keith’s mind. 

“You know,” Lance gasps out after pushing Keith away just a fraction. His arms tighten around Keith’s shoulders, pulling him close; the look in Lance’s eyes encompasses all of Keith’s senses, lighting that challenging fire inside him all at once. Keith's heavy eyes track down Lance’s face, falling down to his lips and watching the way they form the words, “I feel like I should get a say in what would hurt me and whether it's worth it.” 

At that, Keith finally looks Lance in the eyes with a scowl and an argument they've had before already on his tongue. “I won't be complicit in hurting you, Lance.” 

“What do you call this, then?” 

The words deepen the shame boiling in his gut that has been simmering since he stepped foot on the castle ship, and he has trouble maintaining eye contact as he admits, “A momentary lapse in control.” 

Lance narrows his eyes and it's suddenly a showdown between them; both of them are still breathing hard and Keith can feel Lance's chest brush against his with every exhale. He's determined to win whatever war Lance has started. It's a minute and a flicker of Lance's gaze between Keith’s eyes and his lips before he lets out a long, resigned sigh. 

“Fine.” Lance doesn't sound happy—but he also doesn't push it further before he's leaning in again. “Kiss me enough to keep me going until your next momentary lapse, then.” 

The words sink into that guilt Keith keeps with him because as much as he wants to say he won't be back, he knows he's told himself that lie too many times to believe it anymore. 

* * *

Keith gasps as a memory lets him roll out of its grasp, a few lingering tendrils pulling at his consciousness, encouraging him to come back; come back to the desert, to his father, to their home. Come back to an Earth he doesn’t remember, one with a few more edges that he hasn’t gotten to know yet—one with people his heart feels are familiar but his mind doesn’t know.

His mind is fuzzy at the edges, wavering between past and present and everywhere between—he crawls onto his knees, gulping in air and counting backwards from 10 to calm his heart. To let himself settle back into reality. A fuzzy muzzle pushes into his face and Keith blindly reaches for it. He feels the damp heat of the wolf’s huff against his face and holds onto it. He presses his forehead into the coarse fur, breathing in earth and heat and life. When the world around him finally begins to clear—everything is less tinged with pictures of _ before _ , of _ after _—he can hear shuffling across from him. 

“_Mom,_” Keith gasps out, head whipping up. Krolia is faring about the same as he is, pulling herself into a sitting position and rubbing her chest. Her eyes are closed but Keith knows she feels the same longing, the same pain he does. 

“Come here, Keith.” It’s a command, but a soft one, and Keith doesn’t hesitate to follow the order. He’s across their makeshift hut as quickly as his knees can drag him—settling in against Krolia’s side to gather his own breath too. She doesn’t wrap an arm around him—he doesn’t know if he wants her to, not yet, not when they’re still so new. He can’t deny having her beside him helps, though; he can feel her shoulder against his as she breathes, can see the lines of her face settling into something less heartbroken when he’s this close, and that’s enough. 

* * *

The touch is nearly painful, even with how soft it is—even a breath is too much against the new skin stretched into a scar across Keith's arm. Lance's breath hitches at the flinch Keith forgets to hold back; he always loses himself in the moment with Lance, always lets himself feel too much, so he tries to pull away before he gives too much away. 

Lance's hold on his wrist is gentle but leaves no room for mistaking his intent; Keith isn't getting the chance to pull away from him tonight. “Is this the only one?” There's an edge to Lance's voice—something darker than Keith is used to hearing coming from him, warm and _ happy _ Lance. 

Keith considers lying to him. Part of him thinks _ of course there's more—this is war _but another, deeper part of Keith is echoing the look of worry that Lance meets him with every time they see each other. The core of him, though, whispers around the truth that he can't deny Lance much of anything. 

So he shakes his head slowly, holding Lance's gaze. Keith isn't ashamed of the work he does with the Blade; he actually feels like he's making a difference with their missions, even if he thinks they could still be doing more. Under the weight of Lance's worry though—it’s nearly enough to make Keith buckle under the shame he feels at causing it. 

“Let me see,” Lance breathes out. “Please.” It's an afterthought, but Keith is already silently taking off his shirt. The sound of fabric hitting the floor is a whisper in the room. The dull bed lights cast shadows through the rumples of Keith’s shirt, and Keith has to drag his eyes from it to face him. Lance's eyes track the movement, but unlike how they used to—his eyes used to burn a path down Keith, trailing over his skin with an obvious want; now, they're cold with fear and worry and every feeling Keith tried to keep out of those eyes by leaving. 

“Can I?” Lance barely waits for Keith's nod before he's reaching forward, tracing the memory of a close call with a sentry. Keith manages to suppress the shudder at the feeling of Lance’s fingers on his skin again—his skin itself, however, betrays him and raises to meet the touch. 

“The pods with the Blade—they're saved for the injuries we can't bounce back from. They use too much energy for our temporary bases to handle regularly.” Keith's voice is gruff to his own ears, rubbing his throat raw on the way out. He doesn't know if it's from the touch or the shame boiling in his gut at Lance's scared fascination. 

“What do you call this one then?” Lance asks, eyes harder as he glances up from a deeper scar; a spear had caught him mid air against the side, he remembers—aimed for his heart, no doubt, but he's quicker than most Galra give him credit for. 

“A bad shot?” Keith tries, but the look Lance gives him is anything but amused. 

Keith is saved from an admonishment when Lance’s eyes catch on a criss-crossing section of scars that circle toward his back. Keith can see the request in Lance’s eyes before he mutters, “Turn around. Please,” like Keith would tell him _ no _ if he wasn’t polite about it. It’s an awkward shuffle to face the opposite side, because Lance refuses to budge an inch, instead watching the way Keith’s muscles bunch and move under the weight of all those scars. 

“Damn it, Keith…” Lance lets out a pained breath, fingers trailing off as the scarred pattern gets deeper the farther it goes down his back. Lance’s wandering fingers stop at the edge of Keith’s pants, the first sign of hesitation he’s shown in all of his requests. 

“Would you…?” Lance doesn’t ask this time, but he doesn’t have to; Keith will say yes, even when Lance doesn’t have the courage to speak. Keith stands and slowly lets his pants drop—back still facing Lance, unable to look him in the eye with so much bared to him. It’s more than skin, it’s his entire self, worn out and laid bare for Lance to judge. All of his choices, all of his mistakes—shown on his skin like a story he doesn’t know how to tell. 

Lance’s fingers find the rest of the scar, rough edges snaking down Keith’s hip and under his briefs; the end of it twists to peek out from the leg of his underwear. The skin has softened with time, Keith knows; there’s not much left anymore but thin white lines, a little deeper in some spots, but mostly faded. Lance’s fingers tighten over Keith’s hip anyway, trembling enough that Keith can feel it. Keith’s breath catches, feeling overwhelmed at—at everything, everything Lance must see in him now, what he must think. 

Lance’s grip pulls him back enough for his forehead to drop against the dip of Keith’s back, arms circling his waist in a loose hold. Keith can feel the shaky breaths Lance tries to suppress with his face hidden away; he can feel the tremors in Lance’s fingers as they grip his sides tighter with every sharp inhale. Keith raises his face to the ceiling, willing his eyes shut against the heat he feels building there. Slowly, unsure of how to comfort Lance—unsure, because _ he’s _ the cause of this, always the cause of Lance’s hurt—he lifts his own arms to cover Lance’s and grips tight. 

Lance draws him closer, burying his face in Keith’s back, and Keith uses the moment to mask his own emotions before twisting in Lance’s arms. Lance barely allows him the movement, stubbornly pressing his face into Keith’s abdomen. Since his touch wasn’t rebuked before, with a little more confidence, Keith rests a hand on top of Lance’s head and runs his fingers through the hair there; softly, like Lance might fall apart beneath him. His fingers work their way down to the back of Lance’s neck as he tries to soothe away the knotted tension. 

“I'm okay, Lance. Really. You don't have to worry about me.” Keith tries to comfort him, tries to offer something that's softer than the harsh lines on his skin. 

Lance glares up at him, unshed tears being stubbornly held back and brandished as a weapon towards Keith. “Too late for that, you dick. You should know better than to think I'm not always going to worry about you, whether you want to be mine or not.” 

Keith’s fingers falter against Lance’s neck, twitching at the pointed blow, before Keith forces himself to resume the ministrations. “That’s not fair.” 

“But it’s true.” Lance’s eyes don’t back down, his shoulders filling out a little more under his own indignation. Keith doesn’t know if it’s true, not anymore. There’s so much he wants—things he’s wanted for so long, but he’s not used to being able to make a decision that actually gives him what he wants. 

Keith doesn’t argue; he knows he can’t win this, not when he’s the reason they’re like this. He’s not deluded enough to think this isn’t all his fault—no matter his intentions, he’s the one who has broken them. He doesn’t deserve to defend himself against those tears welled in Lance’s eyes. So instead, he does what Lance _ has _ given him permission to do. His fingers trail from the back of Lance’s neck to cup his jaw, thumb tracing the hard bone there as the harsh line of Lance’s brow softens. 

“Talk about _ unfair_,” Lance huffs, not meeting Keith’s eyes but leaning up to meet his lips halfway all the same. 

“I’m sorry, Lance,” Keith whispers against his lips and Lance sighs. 

“I know you are, Keith. You always are.”

* * *

The first time Keith saw the nebulous star crest, he thought it was possibly the most beautiful sunrise he’d ever seen. His second thought—Lance would love this. He would insist on taking a selfie with it, and Keith would grumble, but then they would settle and watch it in silence. 

Keith isn’t sure when the effect wore off—when it stopped looking beautiful and morphed into something more restrictive; something that told time which didn’t seem to matter anymore, time that drifted in and out of Keith’s grasp. There were days that seemed longer than others; days that never ended, pulling him in and out of the past, causing him to question _ when _ he was. There’s something distinctly terrifying about being lost to time—helpless in a way Keith could have never imagined, having absolutely no control over his days or thoughts or where he’s going. There should only be forward, yet he’s dragged backwards and sideways, and he thinks he may be sick, some days. 

He tries not to think too much of what could have been, of what will be. _ Present _ is the only safe place for him, where he can have at least a semblance of control over his mind. He has never been one to shy away from quiet, from keeping his mind clear.This is so different, though; this forced silence he keeps his mind wrapped in, so that he doesn’t get too lost in the memories. 

There are some things that are safe when the silence can’t be contained. Lance—the good times between them, never speculating how things could have been. Shiro—he latches onto the lessons Shiro always tried to instill in him, and thinks he understands them now more than he ever could have before. 

His father, though—his father is rarely a safe thought, not when there’s so many memories between him and Krolia that Keith could have never known, should have never known. Not this way. 

Keith can tell Krolia’s seen _ him _ again when he returns from his walk with the wolf—there’s not too many places to go but he’s still a wild thing, even though he’s chosen to stay with them, and he needs the exercise. Keith does too; he might be less of a wild thing these days, but he still feels the itch under his skin, running through his veins every now and again. 

Keith stops short of the fire that’s dying in the pit at Krolia’s feet; her eyes are trained on the flames but there’s a thousand stories being told beyond her irises. One of her sticks dangle loosely between her knees—turned and turned between her fingers—and Keith swears he can see a groove worn into the wood. He watches her, unsure of how to comfort her—unsure of more than the knowing silences between them, of the shared trauma of war, of morals that ground them at the root of a tree that has grown in two very different directions. 

The wolf moves first; he shuffles from Keith’s feet and flops over to Krolia’s side, eyes resting on the flames as well. There’s a huff from his snout, blowing up dust that burns in the heat of the fire. He eyes Keith, as if to say _ see? It isn’t so hard _ and Keith rolls his eyes. He won’t be shamed by an animal, okay. 

Keith lowers himself down at Krolia’s other side, his shoulder brushing hers as he goes. It takes a few minutes for her to come back to them. When she does, it’s with a shudder and a rattle in her chest. Keith gives her a moment—he knows it’s never easy, the minutes right after coming back. 

“Keith. Welcome back,” Krolia says, and it’s the only opening he knows he’ll get. 

“Hey, Mom,” he greets back, knocking his shoulder a little more deliberately against hers, “did you see Dad again?” 

“Nearly always.” 

Keith hums, because he understands. He doesn’t know if there’s a specific type of memory these waves try to pull out of them, if there’s even any way to put logic to this near-magic. If there is, he thinks it must be the memories that are imprinted somewhere in your soul—or at least it’s the memories about the people imprinted there. There’s definitely been a pattern to the people he sees when he’s ebbed away from the present. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keith hasn’t offered before. He knows he doesn’t know how to give words to the feelings that surround this particular subject, but he thinks at some point—at some point they have to. With time barely standing between them, they might as well make it now. 

Krolia takes a while to answer. Keith doesn’t push her—she heard him, he knows she did, and she’ll answer if she’s going to answer. Either way, Keith will be there. She may not be ready, either. Keith can’t begrudge her that. 

“I don’t regret what I did,” she starts, softly. Keith knows she doesn’t—how could she? He can’t regret what he’s done, either. But hearing it said still stings in his lungs. He breathes around it, though. 

“I know. I don’t blame you. I would have done the same.” 

Krolia laughs a little at that. “Your father always worried you’d get that from me.” 

Keith starts, surprised. “Really?” 

Krolia nods, a smile so small and so fond curling her lips. “Yes. Apparently my—how did he put it—_crass lack of tact _got us into more than one argument back then. He always used to say I could ‘rub the paint off a car with one syllable’ but I never quite understood what he meant.” 

The laugh flares out of his chest so quickly Keith doesn’t get a chance to be surprised. It’s quick and rough, but it puts a smile on Krolia’s face. “He used to tell me I was drier than the sand outside.” 

Krolia watches as his laugh turns into a chuckle and finally tapers off, her eyes regaining some warmth. Keith watches her back, something a little less painful sitting in his chest at the thought of his father. 

The warmth in Krolia’s eyes dims, just a fraction, before she says, “I know you don’t blame me. But there will always be a part of me that hates how much I missed. Of you, of your father. That I was not there for you through so much—that you had to grow into yourself without my hand to guide you.” 

Keith softens, leaning into her side. “I know, Mom. I think—” he swallows, trying to choose his words before he gives them away, “I think there’s a part of me that will always hate it, too. I don’t hate you. I’m not—I’m not _ angry _ at you. But part of me—it hurts when I think of everything you missed. Of everything I can’t give back to you.” 

Krolia nods, solemn, and Keith thinks she gets it. She understands. There’s so much between them that’s lost, but there’s so much more to be found.She knows she can’t dig those lost pieces up, but they’re moving toward something that can grow in all the space that’s left. Keith wants to grow too, wants to move forward. There’s a bloating against his ribs though, and it’s keeping him from taking that step. He thinks maybe—maybe if he makes that first puncture, it can begin to deflate. 

“When Dad died,” Keith starts, “I didn’t think the world would ever make sense again. I looked for—stability, I guess—in anything I could find. Nothing was right, though. I didn’t want another family, another home. I—it made me angry.” Keith swallows around the swell in his throat. He absently notices the wolf has come to sit by him now, and places one hand on his neck. His fingers hide in the thick fur there, easily buried in the warmth and texture of it. He lets it keep him here, anchored in the present while he gives pieces of the past away. 

He takes a deep breath—lets it out. Keeps himself steady with the rise and fall of his own chest. “When they told me the news, told me he was—gone. I had fifty cents in my pocket and some gum I stole from Dad’s lunch box that morning. Two quarters, seven sticks of spearmint. I kept those exact things in my pockets for the next, what, four years? Felt like I couldn’t function without feeling them in my pocket every day.” 

Krolia makes a wounded sound, soft and low in her throat, but Keith ignores her. He has to tell her. He knows, logically, there’s no point in hurting her with this—he doesn’t want to _ hurt _ her, but he wants her to know him, beyond the flashes she gets to steal from the past. They’re not enough to relieve the pressure in his chest. He just wants his mom to know him. He just wants to _ give _ her this. 

“There was some kid—don’t even remember his name—who found the gum when it fell out of my pocket one day. He took a piece, chewed it once, and spit it out with some comment about being stale.” Keith locks his elbows around his knees and rests his chin on the bridge of his forearms. “I beat the shit out of him, Mom. It was like my world crashed down around me all over again. I swear it felt like that kid murdered Dad in front of me. Over some stupid gum.”

Krolia’s voice is wet when she says, “Oh, Keith.” 

“I stopped carrying those things in my pocket about a year after I met Shiro. Slowly, at first. Took the gum out. Then the quarters, eventually. Always felt weird having change after that. But I grew from it, eventually. It was slow. And hard. But I did grow, Mom.” Keith breathes out, then smiles. “I'm still growing.” He turns his face toward her, cheek pressed into his knee and eyes hot. 

Krolia smiles too; a little softer and there's definitely still some hurt there. But she smiles. “I don't regret my choice, but I _ am _sorry, Keith.” 

“It’s okay, Mom. I just wanted to…” 

“I know,” she says with a shaky breath. “I know.” 

Krolia wraps an arm around his shoulders, her fingers digging into his arm and just shy of painful. But Keith leans into her. Lets her fingers running through his hair soothe him; lets it give him that precious comfort he needed so badly all those years ago. He closes his eyes against it, lets it fill him, and deflates. 

* * *

**Keith, ** _ 5:49 _ ** _!message not sent_ **

_ I saw that day in the hangar. I know why I had to push you away, but. _

_ I’m sorry, Lance. I’m sorry I hurt you for trying to help me. _

**Keith, ** _ 19:56 _ ** _!message not sent_ **

_ It was easier to sleep when you were beside me, too. _

**Keith, ** _ 1:09 _ ** _!message not sent_ **

_ I miss you. _

**Keith, ** _ 16:22 ! _ ** _message not sent_ **

_ I saw you today. Mom says these visions—they don’t just tell the past, but the future too. What I saw today though… The future must not be set, or maybe it tells what could have been? The way you smiled at me, Lance. I don’t think you’ll ever be able to look at me like that again. _

_ Most days, I don’t think I’d deserve it. _

* * *

The memory that rolls over Keith starts as a feeling of knuckles knocking on a familiar door—the pit growing in his stomach heightens sharply, morphing into alarm because _ no, _ not _ this _ one. He doesn’t think he can take reliving this night. Not now. His fists clench at his sides as he fights against the memory, knowing he can do nothing to stop it from pulling him further into the past. That night was over a year ago for him now, but the feelings that were fighting in him back then still scratch under his skin. They keep him up on the nights he forgets why the mission has to come first—why he left the team, why he allowed himself to let Lance slip away. 

Those feelings were all at war that night too, and Keith finally has to stop fighting the memory as it settles in with an unfortunate familiarity. 

The door opens quickly, like it always does. Keith hates the little thrill he gets knowing that Lance keeps letting him back in, over and over. It’s everything he didn’t want for Lance, it’s everything he told Lance would hurt him and what he wasn’t willing to do to him. Keith hates himself just a bit for coming back, but the small smile lifting the edges of Lance’s mouth when he greets him helps ease the sting. 

“Hey, Samurai. It’s been a while.” Lance leans on the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, and Keith forces himself to look up from the way the fabric stretches across his shoulders. Lance smirks like he knows where Keith’s gaze fell, preening under the attention. 

“It’s always a while,” Keith tells him and it’s embarrassing how gruff it comes out. Lance’s eyes darken at the sound though, so he doesn’t stay embarrassed for long. 

“It doesn’t have to be.” 

Keith doesn’t want to get into this, not this time. Lance always tries to get him to rise to the bait of an argument they have had countless times, as if hoping this time would have a different outcome. Hell, Keith isn’t so sure sometimes Lance isn’t right. He can’t keep arguing why he needs to stay away when any chance he gets, Keith steals time to be with Lance like this. Steals Lance’s time—steals his nights and twists them into something that looks like _ before _; before everything got too jumbled, and before Keith became too much of a coward to untangle it. 

Keith takes a step closer anyway, bringing himself one step further into Hell. His voice is low—rough with conflict—when he asks, “Are you going to let me in?” 

Lance rolls his eyes, as if it isn’t even a question; as if he’ll always let Keith in, no matter how many times Keith leaves in the first place. The guilt gnaws at his rib bones, splinters making their way to his heart, and Keith has to ignore it so he can follow Lance into the room. 

“How long do I have you?” Lance asks around a yawn—Keith knows he doesn’t ask it to hurt him but the question still burns. 

“Don’t worry about it, Lance.” Keith tells him softly, hands already reaching for Lance’s before they reach the bed. The feeling of Lance’s warm palms against his helps ease that burn, and Keith lets him be a balm to the boiling guilt. 

Lance huffs, pulling Keith by the hands down to the bed. “That short, huh?” The words are small but carry the weight of all the short nights between them. Keith only manages to nod, because he knows he can’t deny Lance any question for long. Can’t deny him almost anything for long, really. Hell, it’s half the reason he ends up here so often. 

The comforter is ruffled and balled up, curling around their hips as the mattress dips under their weight. The sheets are still warm from sleep and so is Lance, the heat pleasant as Keith’s hands roam from Lance’s thighs and up his sides—thumb dipping under his soft sleep shirt to elicit a small shiver, then tracing over every rib. His hands never seem to warm up like they do when he gets to touch Lance. His fingers find the nape of Lance’s neck and tangle in the hair there, his thumb fitting around the edge of Lance’s jaw. Keith’s head falls forward and he nudges his forehead against Lance’s, sighing at the contact. Lance’s eyes flutter closed as Keith’s breath fans across his lips and Keith watches, attention rapt on the small movement. 

“C’mere, then. Don’t waste my time,” Lance jokes softly but Keith hears the pain behind it—behind his closed eyes and open face—and it cuts through his veins like ice. He doesn’t know how to fix it because he knows _ he’s _ the issue. He might also be the solution, but the problem never seems to quite equal out in his favor. His grip on Lance’s jaw tightens fractionally before he pulls him in, lips already parted and wanting when Lance breathes him in. 

“God, Keith.” The words leave Lance in a pained sigh, and Keith swallows them up, thumb encouraging Lance’s jaw to tilt open and let him in. And Lance—Lance lets him, always lets him. He’s determined to be in the moment with Lance—he deserves all of Keith’s attention, everything he can give him, and Keith isn’t going to let anything ruin this. 

Lance pulls him closer, fingers digging into his sides, and Keith follows his lead to lay back on the mattress where his hand cradles Lance’s head against the mattress. Lance makes a sound that melts in the pit of Keith’s lungs when Keith presses against him, his body nestled in the angle of Lance’s hips. One hand follows that path down Lance’s side again, finding that soft patch of sensitive skin above Lance’s hip and brushing his thumb over it in soft circles. 

Lance’s breath comes quicker and Keith can feel every intake against his chest, every exhale on his lips, and he loses himself in the rhythm. He moves down Lance’s throat to taste that warm rhythm on his tongue. Lance’s neck stretches to meet him, a quiet gasp escaping his lips—his hands come up and tangle in Keith’s hair, pulling him closer, encouraging him with soft noises that move against Keith’s tongue. 

“Stay, Keith, please,” Lance pleads with a sigh, and Keith’s heart breaks. Every time, it breaks. Because he wants to give Lance more—always so much more, but he only has so much to give. 

“I’m here, Lance,” Keith breathes into his neck, pressing his lips to the warm skin there and closing his eyes against the emotion that burns against his eyes. He noses at some of the growing marks he’s left—reminders of him when he’s gone, something satisfying twisting in his gut—before moving up and nipping at the cut of Lance’s jaw. 

Lance groans and pulls him back up, yanking him hard enough their lips crash together again and Keith obliges him—would give him anything he wanted to take. He meets Lance’s mouth with just as much fervor, palming Lance’s hip through his jeans and aching to feel the skin there. He knows they should stop, should wind down before they take things too far. All Keith wants is for Lance to let him hold him tonight, let him run his fingers down his back, let him pretend everything is as it should be. But then Lance gasps into his mouth and Keith’s fingers tighten over his hip to draw him in closer. 

There’s always so much when it comes to Lance; so much feeling, so much want, so much Keith doesn’t know how to comprehend it. He never thought he could feel so much for a person in so many ways. He’s drawn in, as always, and gets lost in everything Lance so generously gives him. He feels selfish, taking and taking, but he never finds it in himself to turn down what Lance offers. 

“Keith, please.” The words are barely more than air and Keith immediately pushes himself up onto his elbows at the ask, knowing he’s already taking too much. 

“Sorry, Lance. Sorry. Didn’t mean to go so far.” Keith tells him through labored breaths, shifting to unpin Lance from the mattress but Lance’s thighs keep a tight hold on him and keep him still. 

“No, don’t. Please don’t stop.” The request in Lance’s eyes burns through Keith, turns his blood to molasses and freezes him in place. Lance never asks him to go further, never crosses that silent line between them, even if he’s happy to dangerously toe at it sometimes. 

“C’mon, we shouldn’t. We’ve talked about this.” It’s the only thing Keith can’t take from him in these nights; he steals his time, he can’t take anything else from him. Can’t make leaving harder than it is.

Lance groans, throwing his head back against the mattress. “We’ve talked about a lot of things, Keith. We’ve talked and talked and talked—and none of those talks change the fact that you’re _ here _ right now, do they?” The bite in his words is eased by the roll of his hips, but Keith has to lean away from the urge to follow that heat. 

“That’s different,” Keith manages to get the words out after a few belated beats, breathing hard from the effort of not giving in. There’s defiance in Lance’s eyes, beneath that want that steals Keith’s breath. 

Lance rolls his eyes, staring up at him with a dangerous look. Keith doesn’t know if he can fight it, not when every urge is telling him to stay and give Lance what he wants—what they both want, from the burning in Keith’s chest down deep in his belly. “That’s bullshit, Keith, and you know it.” 

Keith doesn’t know how to argue because he _ does _ know it’s bullshit, does know him being here is the least fair thing he could do to Lance. Lance’s eyes soften just a bit at the conflict that must be reflected in Keith’s face, his whole body going slack beneath Keith with a frustrated sigh after only a few bated moments. “I don’t want anything you don’t want, Keith. I won’t push you.” 

“You know I want you.” Keith can’t stop the words from tumbling off his tongue like a sacred mantra he’s told Lance a thousand times by now, but he knows it’s lost its meaning. He knows it can’t mean anything, not anymore—not when everything he does contradicts it.

The sadness that shadows Lance’s eyes ignites Keith’s lungs and makes the breath in his throat turn to ash. “I know you do, Keith. I know. I just—” Lance cuts himself off, eyes searching Keith’s face, knowing Keith can’t give him the answer he wants. “I just wish that if you insist on making me miss you, you actually gave enough of yourself to me to give me something to _ really _ miss.” 

The recoil of the words shatters his heart. This is what he does to Lance—every time, he finds himself unable to stop his trajectory toward the boy he wishes he could give the universe to, the boy he can’t even give his heart to. He’s selfish for coming here, selfish for giving only parts of himself, selfish for never giving Lance what he needs. Selfish for ever thinking that _ this _ could be something he needed, some day. 

“I’m sorry, Lance,” Keith tells him honestly, hanging his head and letting it fall against Lance’s neck. He can feel the shuddering breaths in Lance’s chest and he knows that that’s the way he sounds when he’s trying not to cry. He hates that he knows that. The sound clenches in Keith’s chest, and he presses closer because he doesn’t know any other way to make it better right now. 

Keith closes his eyes and turns his head to press a kiss to the side of Lance’s throat, feeling the vibrations of the shaky sigh Lance lets out at the touch. Keith murmurs more apologies into Lance’s skin, punctuating each with another press of his lips, unable to soothe Lance any other way. 

It isn’t long before Lance’s hands come up to cradle Keith’s head, fingers tangling in his hair and pulling just enough. Keith thinks he can’t give Lance what he really wants, what he’s asked for so, so many times, but he could give him _ something _ of himself. If it’s what Lance wants, Keith would just have to find it in him to be able to move on after. Would have to know how to walk away. 

Keith presses his lips to the side of Lance’s jaw, tongue tasting a small scar there, and Lance gasps in surprise at the contact. When Keith lifts his head and presses forward, Lance’s lips are already parted and slack against his, letting Keith slowly taste everything he has to offer. His tongue is warm and full and so ready to meet Keith’s that it pulls a rough groan from his throat. 

Everything about Lance is open to Keith, and he aches at the thought of how much of himself he’s willing to give when Keith never gives anything back. The thought pushes himself past the one boundary he gave himself when he started coming here, hand slipping between them and fingers finding the button on Lance’s jeans. 

Lance jerks at the touch, lips pulling away from Keith’s as he rears back. “_Keith_, no. You’ve said you didn’t want to and I get it, I wasn’t trying to push you past your limit earlier. I just want you to stay here, okay? That’s enough for me.” 

Keith shakes his head, fingers pausing at Lance’s zipper. “Let me decide my limits, Lance.” 

Lance stares up at him, eyes searching, and finally Keith can give him a real answer to his questions. He must see that answer, but he still hesitates. “Are you sure, Keith? This—all of this, Keith, I know it’s a lot for both of us. But I don't want you to regret any of it. I don’t want you to go further than you can handle.” His words are soft but his hands are softer as they reach up to smooth the fabric of Keith’s shirt across his shoulders. The gesture is gentle, but the look in Lance’s eyes is what gets Keith. 

If Keith’s heart had already broken earlier, Lance’s words help mend a few pieces back together long enough for Keith to regret everything that’s lead him to this point. To this inability to give Lance everything he’s ever wanted from him. He knows Lance always considers him, always wants him and wants the best for him, and Keith always abuses it by accepting the invitation every time he’s too weak to make himself think better of it. 

“I’m sure, Lance. I won’t do anything I don’t want to do. Let me do this for you, Lance. Please.” The last words are pressed into Lance’s lips as his eyes fall shut at the press of Keith’s body even closer. Lance’s thighs fall open a little wider to welcome that weight. Keith can feel the growing heat between Lance’s hips—pressed close against his belly, dragging up his chest as Keith pulls away from the lingering kiss—and it burns in Keith, rolling up his stomach and through his lungs, making his head swim with want. 

“Okay. Okay, yeah. We can stop any time, though, Keith, swear to me you—” Lance's eyes are half lidded but it doesn't mask the intensity simmering there at all. Keith kisses the corner of Lance's lips, reverent and gentle, burning in that stare. 

The adamance on Lance's tongue drifts off in the air between them, dissolving in the heat of their shared breath. Keith is overwhelmed by Lance and all of his generosity; he's giving this to Keith—this opportunity to finally give back, to show Lance a softness that Keith has to tuck away in the folds of his chest most days. Keith shifts his weight off his forearms and back down into his hips, unable to stop the groan at how ready and willing Lance is to meet him halfway. He swears to himself, though, this won’t be about him; _ no_, tonight will be about Lance. This will be _ for _ him. He follows that thought down Lance’s neck and across his chest, hands pushing up under the hem of his shirt, and Lance follows the silent command by shuffling out of it quickly. 

While Lance lifts up to pull his shirt over his head, Keith shifts himself down to kneel by the edge of the bed, meeting Lance’s questioning gaze when his head pops free. There's something still so soft in those eyes, as if hesitant to believe this is actually happening. Keith doesn't blame him—he never thought Lance would be this vulnerable with him again, and the sight of Lance staring down at him in curious wonder fills Keith's chest with a wet ball of emotion that sticks in his throat. 

“Come here, Lance.” The command rasps against his throat, embarrassingly rough—if Keith could even feel embarrassment right now; that hollow inside him is filled with just _ Lance, _ leaving no room for anything else _ — _ and the hands that pull Lance’s thighs closer are less than gentle, yanking a gasp out of Lance as Keith presses himself between his legs. His calves meet and cross behind the small of Keith’s back, pulling him in closer, and Keith obliges him, leaning up for another kiss. That hesitance from earlier melts as Keith slides his tongue into Lance's mouth; Lance is so, so pliant in Keith's arms and it aches everywhere they aren't touching, because they've spent way too long apart to not be touching everywhere, right _ now_. 

It isn’t long before Lance’s fingers are yanking up Keith’s shirt from the back and tossing it to the side, hands coming to rest on his bare shoulders and stroking from his neck to his forearms over and over. Keith loses himself in the sensation, skin rising to meet the light touches as he shivers at the contact. 

“I want—” Lance starts but doesn’t finish, whining when the words pull his lips from Keith’s, so instead he goes back in for another kiss. It warms Keith’s chest, fueling that burn that’s been igniting his veins since Lance let him press back into the curve of his body. Lance’s feet finish his request, trying to toe at the waist of Keith’s jeans and Keith laughs, just a little. 

“How about you first, huh?” He teases, and it’s warm on his tongue, alighting his fingers as they finish unzipping Lance’s jeans and help him pull them off. Lance looks down at him from where he’s sat on the edge of the bed and Keith leans back on his heels, letting himself indulge in the sight before him for just a moment before reaching up and fingering the hem of Lance’s briefs. 

“Can I?” Keith asks softly, meeting Lance’s eyes and melting at the desire he sees there. When Lance nods, eyes blown wide and staring at Keith with just a little bit of wonder, Keith’s hands shake as his fingers trail up Lance’s thigh to the waistband of his briefs and he dips a finger under to pull them down. Lance lifts himself up to help, never breaking that hold on Keith’s gaze the entire time. Keith thinks he may suffocate under that stare; it says so much that neither of them are brave enough to voice right now—the uncertainty, the trust, the longing—all of it right there at the surface, laid bare before Keith like the most sacred offering of faith. That raw and ragged grace steals Keith's attention, filling his head with so many overwhelming emotions he forgets why he had been praying in the first place. 

When Keith hears the sound of fabric hitting the floor though, he can’t stop himself from looking down and almost immediately is devastated at the sight, and his breath leaves him in a sharp exhale. Lance’s knees part for him and Keith can’t take his eyes off the soft hair that travels down from his navel straight to the hard line of his shaft, twitching in interest under Keith’s stare. Every inch of untouched skin maps out the journey of a life Keith wants to live; a life filled with unabashed exploration of the man laid bare in front of him—from every freckle to every buried memory, Keith wants to discover it all and know each fact better than he knows himself. Keith's hands absently brush over Lance's knees as he takes everything in, breath caught in his throat. 

Lance’s fingers fidget where they’re resting on his thighs. “You’re going to give me a complex, you know.” It’s a joke but Keith hears the nervous energy thrumming under it, so he moves forward to ease that fear instinctively and presses a kiss to the inside of Lance’s thigh. The touch elicits a gasp from Lance’s lips and Keith lives for it; he didn’t realize how compelling it would be, having Lance so bare and vulnerable in front of him, trusting him with so much and knowing he can rely on Keith here—now—for this. Knowing he can trust him to take care of him in this moment. Keith feels like this might be the only motivation he needs to take on the rest of his life, if he were to get to do this every day.

“You’re so beautiful, Lance. So, _so_ beautiful.” Keith whispers the words into the skin of Lance’s hips as his hands come up to rest over Lance’s on his thighs, fingers tangling with Lance’s and squeezing. He mouths gentle kisses into that sensitive skin, reveling in the way he hears Lance’s labored breath and the way his thighs tremble under his lazy tongue. There's a fleeting thought that wonders if this is the first time Lance has been touched like this, and something hot and possessive sweeps through Keith's belly, wanting so badly to ask but afraid of ruining the moment. By the way each touch elicits such intense reactions, he has a strong feeling that it might be, and it fills him with determination to make this so, _ so _ good for Lance that he’s shaking with the need to please by the time he gets to the crease of Lance’s hip. He breathes in deep, nosing into those soft curls and trying to center himself. Lance’s fingers grip Keith’s hands so tight that Keith has to squeeze them back to release that hold. 

“Keith, _ Jesus_, I—” Lance chokes on the plea, words barely more than the pants that they tumble out around. He untangles their fingers to lay a shaking hand against the side of Keith’s cheek and Keith leans into it with a sigh.

“Is this okay?” Keith presses the words into Lance’s palm, checking Lance’s reaction with a glance up. 

Lance’s eyes are blown wide, his lips parted and cheeks flushed so deep Keith burns at the thought it’s because of _ him_. _ He _ did this to Lance. “More than okay, sweetheart. So, so okay. Are _ you _ okay?” 

Keith nods, his own cheeks warming at the endearment. Emboldened, Keith leans a little heavier into that hand and admits, “You have no idea how badly I've wanted to do this for you, Lance.”

“God, Keith, you can't just _ say _things like—”

Keith doesn’t let him finish, cutting him off with a quick dip forward and a slow, tentative press of his tongue to the base of Lance’s shaft. Lance's hand flies to Keith's hair on a gasp, fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his head. Lance is warm—so warm—and Keith drags his tongue up to follow that heat and it punches a moan out of Lance’s mouth. The sound ricochets in Keith’s chest and he lets it push him forward, taking Lance into his mouth fully. The weight of him against his tongue is so filling, so satisfying, and Keith pulls him in further by the back of his hips. Lance is shaking, Keith can feel it under his hands, and it jolts Keith down to his core. 

“Keith, oh my Go_-oo-od_,” Lance lets out, both hands now coming to pull Keith’s hair back out of his face. Keith eyes had fallen shut but he makes himself lift them and the look on Lance’s face is worth it—so reverent, so open, so vulnerable and loving. Keith groans, flattening his tongue and bobbing his head as far as he can go. 

“_Christ_, Keith,” Lance moans his name with a high gasp and Keith thinks, in the back of his mind, this is why he didn’t want to go this far before; he knew having Lance like this, getting to take him in like this, would be too much to give up. For now though—for now, Keith could enjoy the moment. Could enjoy the heat of Lance at the back of his throat, enjoy the little thrusts Lance can’t seem to help, trying to get even deeper into the warmth of Keith’s mouth. The thought heats Keith’s cheeks but he holds Lance’s stare. He watches his eyes fall shut with a moan as Keith flattens his tongue again and rolls it against the underside of Lance’s cock as it fills the back of his throat. 

Lance’s hands are suddenly pulling his face up and Keith follows the silent command, eyes half lidded and confused, mouth feeling cold and empty at the abrupt loss of weight. “Did I do something wrong?” Keith asks immediately, hands stilling where they had been tilting Lance’s thighs open further. He’s always wanting more from Lance. 

“No, _ God_, Keith, _ no_,” Lance assures him immediately. “God, you’re perfect. So perfect.” 

Lance’s hands stroke down his cheeks to the sides of his neck and Keith soaks in the feeling, letting the praise fill him up. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He breathes out, thinking that stopping might actually kill him, but there’s no way he wouldn’t if Lance asked. 

“No, I just want you to get something out of this too, Keith,” Lance tells him like it’s obvious, toes pushing at his jeans again but Keith shakes his head. 

“No, Lance. I want this to be for you.” 

“What? Keith, no, I want you to—” 

Keith’s grip on Lance’s thighs tightens, one hand drifting closer and squeezing the base of his shaft to cut him off. It does the trick, Lance’s mouth falling open on a groan that rips out of him at the contact. “Lance, I get so much out of this, you have _ no _ idea.” Keith feels his own cock pulse at the thought, already so hard he could cry, but even the thought of release isn’t more satisfying than having Lance in his mouth again. “Please, just let me give this to you.” 

Lance’s breath is heavier than his words when he is finally able to speak again. “I’m not—I can’t enjoy this knowing you’re not—that you—” 

“You think I’m not enjoying this?” Keith asks him incredulously, sitting up and pulling one of Lance’s hands down to his jeans to press right over the stiff hard-on straining his zipper. “I love this, Lance.” The words are harsh but low and Keith lets it tell Lance what he can’t say out loud, what he won't let himself say. 

Lance’s mouth falls open with a silent _ oh _ at the feeling of Keith straining against his palm. Keith struggles not to push into his grip, his hips aching to seek out that friction. The revelation seems to only harden Lance’s resolve, though. “This is what I _ mean_, Keith, please, I want you to—” 

“Lance, no—” 

Lance cuts him off with an open, aggressive kiss, fingers gripping him tighter and Keith gasps into his mouth. “Touch yourself, then.” 

Keith’s brain barely registers the words, only managing a small, “Huh?” as Lance pulls away just as quickly as he kissed him. 

“If you won’t let me, please, touch yourself while you’re—” Lance can’t finish the sentence but it clicks for Keith and his face burns at the thought. But if it’s what Lance wants… He’s always has a hard time denying him. The idea of Lance in his mouth while he… Keith swallows a moan at the thought, and Lance seems to notice the interest with a heated look. 

“You want that?” Keith asks to clarify one more time, fingers already playing with the button of his jeans. 

“Yes, please, Keith, I want it. I want you to, _ please_.” Lance chokes on the words with how quickly he gets them out, nodding so fast they nearly bump heads. Keith hesitates only a moment more before he’s pulling his jeans down and taking his underwear with them, kicking them to the side as Lance watches with rapt attention. He only lets out a quiet, “_Christ_,” when Keith kneels between his knees once more. 

There is no hesitation, however, when Keith is leaning down again and taking Lance right into his mouth. He welcomes the weight of him, welcomes the warmth, and lets himself go slow, tasting all of what Lance has to offer. He gets lost in the heat of him again so easily, falling back into a slow and indulgent rhythm with a low groan as Lance pushes his hips further towards him. 

“Keith, please,” Lance begs around a gasp when Keith's hands find his thighs once more, tilting them open instead of following his request. It only takes a moment before Keith gives in, hand drifting down to take himself in him a hesitant grip. He can't help but gasp around Lance in his mouth at the contact, the action causing Lance to buck up. Keith's other hand comes up to steady Lance's hips, thumb tracing a line up and down Lance's shaft that follows the trail of his lips. Curious, Keith slips his thumb under the tight ring of his lips, gripping Lance tight as he works his mouth against him. 

“Yes, _ God_.” The words punch out of Lance on a gasp. “Yes, just like that—_please_, Keith,” Lance chants the words, all falling out of his mouth and into Keith's skin as he bows over Keith's head and bites at Keith's shoulder to keep more words from spilling out. Keith never thought being on his knees for someone would give him so much power over them; he always thought the act would take more vulnerability than he’d be able to give someone, but with Lance it’s like giving him part of himself he already owns. A piece that Lance cherishes and wraps between reverent fingers—fingers that tremble against Keith’s skin with every twist of his tongue. 

Keith’s hand grips himself tighter, faster, chasing the feeling that's building with every noise that escapes past Lance's lips. His breathing is right against Keith's ear from how far he's bent over, and Keith can't help the small moans that tumble out of him—that vibrate out against Lance's shaft and tear a cry from Lance’s throat. “Fuck, Keith, you—_ohhhh God_.” The words are lost in a whimper as Keith’s tongue flattens into a drag upwards—lips pulled tight over the head of Lance’s cock and slick with spit and precum—before he sucks Lance down to the back of his throat. 

“Keith—Keith, _ plea-aaahhh_,” Lance gasps, Keith’s name like a prayer falling from his mouth between pants. Keith has never been much of a religious person, but he would devote himself to this. “Keith, _ please_, I'm—” 

It's so much—too much—and only one more tight pull on himself before he's gasping out around Lance, his jaw falling slack and his head tipping forward until his sweat-slick forehead presses into Lance's belly. 

“Lance—_ahhhh _ Je_sus _ , oh my _ God_,” and then Keith joins Lance in that little prayer, unable to do much else but tremble with the shaking pleasure tightening his muscles and rolling through him. Sounds spill from his mouth but they don't cover the whine he hears from deep within Lance's chest. Keith’s eyelids feel heavy, but he keeps them open to lock eyes with Lance while he tries to regain control of his body. Lance is watching him, paying intense attention to the way Keith's body is still shaking, eyes tracking the slow pulls of his soaking wet hand as Keith chases every drop of pleasure he can. Keith sees every pulsing star under his skin reflected in Lance's eyes—full of want and wonder and so dark with desire it pulls Keith back to the straining heat of Lance's cock. He mouths wet kisses against the head of his cock before wrapping his lips fully around him again. He feels Lance still beneath him and let out a low-pitched whine, hips bucking up just once and— 

And then he can taste Lance spilling on his tongue—gasping out his name, hands coming up to tangle in Keith's hair so, so gently and Keith swallows him up. He’s overheating from the breath Lance is panting out next to his ear but loving every second. Keith lets his head fall forward, cheek resting against Lance’s hip. Lance is practically cradling his head, fingers in his hair slowly contracting against his scalp every now and then between heavy breaths. 

Keith closes his eyes, shifting just a little so he can wrap his arms around Lance’s back—slowly and shakily but so, so sure. He lets himself breathe until it doesn’t feel like the breath is being punched out of his lungs anymore. 

It’s Lance who speaks first, eventually. “Thank you, Keith,” Lance whispers into his hair, and Keith’s hold on Lance’s waist tightens. 

“Don’t thank me. Wanted to do it.” Keith manages to get out, nuzzling his nose just a little further into Lance’s hip and breathing out a sigh. 

Lance doesn’t answer, fingers just rhythmically sifting through Keith’s hair and running down the back of his neck. Keith doesn’t know what he did to deserve such a soft side of Lance after this—after everything—but he greedily takes all of it in. 

“Do you have time to stay for a little bit?” 

He doesn’t, he really doesn’t—but Keith can’t deny Lance after this. He can’t leave him. So instead he hums a little affirmation, pressing a kiss to Lance’s hipbone before dragging himself up enough to pull Lance into the bed. Lance lets himself be dragged against Keith’s chest, and Keith can’t help but let his hands wander across all of that open skin Lance is letting him have—fingers tracing lines from Lance’s shoulder and across his waist, all the way to his hip and back. 

“There's so much I want to talk about after… _ That_,” Lance whispers. 

“We can talk about it all tomorrow, okay?” 

“Does that mean you won’t leave before I fall asleep?” The question is so small in the space between them, but it hits Keith right in the stomach. 

Keith presses his lips to the back of Lance’s neck, pulling Lance closer to his chest—so close that Keith can feel the erratic beat of Lance's heart through his back, and yet it still doesn’t feel close enough. 

“I won’t leave,” Keith tells him and it seems to be enough to satisfy Lance; somehow, knowing he won't have to watch Keith say goodbye, lets him relax back into Keith's hold. He never says goodbye, always choosing to leave before Lance wakes up, and he knows it’s because he thinks his resolve would dissolve under the pressure of Lance's eyes watching him walk out the door. 

Laying there, though, Lance pressed against his chest—so trusting and warm—he thinks he may not be able to bring himself to leave at all this time. 

The memory ends with Keith gasping for air, chest heaving with the feeling of loss. God _ damn _ it, he did leave. He did leave, but he was going to come back—he promised Lance the next morning, when Lance woke up and stiffened at the feeling of Keith still wrapped around him. His breath was caught in his throat, the look in his eyes too much to bear, and Keith laid there and promised him he was going to come back. 

_ Right after this mission_, he said before he could stop himself, _ I’m coming back here and we’re going to figure this out. We’ll make it work. Lance, I want to make this work. _

The words felt like a balm against his throat, finally healing something inside him that had been lost for so long. The look on Lance’s face was so hopeful—_hesitant_, but so hopeful.He trusted Keith to come back. 

Keith clenches his eyes shut against the memory. However long it had been for him and Krolia on the mission, God knows how long they’ve actually been gone back home. It could have been months, years—and so he lied to Lance, broke his promise _ again_, and _ fuck_. He can’t even make the right decision correctly. 

* * *

**Keith**, _ 19:49 _ ** _!message not sent_ **

_ I was going to come back, Lance. I wanted to come back. For you. Always for you. _

* * *

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freckles dot across Lance’s face; darker, imperfect flecks that splatter across the bridge of his nose and down under his eyes. They’re nearly unnoticeable from a distance, but this close Keith can see each one and wants to connect them with his fingers. Wants to drift his fingertips across that soft skin—is it still as soft as he remembers?—and meet the touch with lingering presses of his lips, too. 
> 
> He was right; as soon as he let himself indulge in that first scratch, it feels like he’s going to rub himself raw with how badly he wants to make up for lost time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was actually going to be around 30k but it was taking way too long already so I decided to cut the chapter in half. That does mean chapter 3 is mostly written-it's just missing a critical scene and then about half another scene and I think it'll be done. This chapter hasn't even been through full beta yet, but I just wanted to get this out because I know a lot of us are facing really hard times right now with quarantine, and if a long update is enough to bring at least one of you some happiness right now then it's worth pushing it out. 
> 
> If anyone needs to talk, or vent, or just needs someone to talk klance to so they don't go stir crazy, feel free to reach out to me. It's important to remember the strong ties communities can build in times like these, and not be afraid to reach out when you need it. My tumblr is lvnce-mcclain, and I promise I won't think it's weird if you pop in even just to talk to relieve some anxiety. 
> 
> Otherwise I'm gonna work hard to get ch3 out soon as well. Until then, my love and support is with each one of you <3

* * *

The flight back through the quantum abyss is surreal.

Not only because Keith is harboring an alien of Altean descent who shouldn’t even exist according to history, but also because he had come close to believing he and Krolia would never escape from this damn void. Being able to crash through the stars in a ship stolen off a planet lost in time instead of just drifting on the back of a whale feels like stretching his legs after being cramped for far too long.

Flying comes back to Keith almost immediately, like a sense that had been stifled and now is hyper sensitive. He’s able to adjust to the unfamiliar controls with a confidence that feels almost foreign after being stationary for so long, but it fills him with adrenaline that pushes them forward at a breakneck pace.

“He does know how to fly one of these, right?” Romelle, their smuggled Altean, tries to whisper to Krolia when Keith takes a particularly sharp turn around an asteroid. She seems nice enough, but honestly Keith hasn’t been able to focus on much other than making sure all three of them make it out of the abyss.

“Probably not this precise ship, no,” Krolia says calmly but after two years, Keith has learned the intricacies of his mother’s usually stoic demeanor. She is definitely enjoying herself at the expense of Romelle’s anxiety and Keith’s lips twitch in amusement. Still, he doesn’t particularly want to have to deal with Romelle freaking out, so he clears his throat.

“A ship is a ship,” Keith says gruffly, his voice still rough from so much disuse; there’s only so much to talk about in the middle of nowhere. More days than not, Keith and Krolia lived in amiable silence. Keith will almost miss it.

The uneasy silence that follows means he probably wasn’t as reassuring as he was trying to be. “Anyway, once we’re out of the last pulls of the abyss, we’ll have to contact Voltron.”

“We should report back to Kolivan once we’re within range,” Krolia comments. Keith appreciates that she doesn’t push to communicate with him first; he’s struck with how well she can read him now—how she must know the scratching need under Keith’s skin to check in with the team she’s seen so many memories of over the last couple of years. To check in with _him_.

Keith clears his throat, his face warming slightly at how transparent he must be. “Yes, we will check in with the Blade as well. We will probably convene on the Castle—we’ll need both forces to take on Lotor.”

Krolia gives a knowing little hum of agreement, causing that redness to deepen. Whatever. It’s not like Keith is being unreasonable; Voltron needs to be aware of the threat Lotor poses immediately, since they have been working with him on a tentative truce—and for God knows how long, even, since they won’t be able to tell how long they’ve _really_ been trapped in the abyss until they make contact.

Keith’s heart clenches at the reminder of the time that has passed. Would Lance have moved on? Could he have found someone else, if years had passed? Or worse, he could have di—

Keith shakes the thoughts from his head. He’s not going there. There’s no use in thinking about the _what if_s that tried to keep him up at night for two years straight, not when reality is within his grasp.

“Are you sure this… Voltron is enough to take on Lotor?” Romelle asks after a few stilted moments, approaching the side of Keith’s chair slowly. There’s a soft wonder in her voice and Keith is reminded that a living legend means nothing to someone who didn’t grow up hearing the tales of wonder and hope. She leans on the edge of his backrest, and Keith tries to make the proximity not bother him. Tries very hard.

“Yes,” Keith tells her simply, hoping it’s enough to get her to take a step or twenty back. The air between them seems to weigh with the expectation of more and eventually Keith caves. “It’s hard to explain, but you’ll understand when you see Voltron.”

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I take after my mother,” he says after a moment, a smirk at the edge of his lips. A bark of laughter comes from behind him, revealing Krolia’s attention to their conversation.

“I’m afraid he does come by it naturally,” Krolia concedes. Keith can see her small smile from the corner of his eye.

Romelle groans. “Well, hopefully this is a short trip then,” she grumbles, finally pushing off Keith’s seat to go play with the wolf sleeping in the back of the ship. Krolia passes by to point out a path from the maps she found stored in with the cargo of the ship, catching Keith’s eye and sharing a grin with him.

“It most likely will be—”

Keith cuts Krolia off with an abrupt change in posture, scrambling forward to get a closer look at the controls when his eyes catch on the alert that their connection to interstellar communications was just restored. He immediately changes the communication frequency to the one Pidge always used. “Command: contact Castle of Lions—voice and video,” Keith speaks into the control board, his heart pounding as the connection sits pending on his video feed.

The call is connected after three painful heartbeats, and all the breath leaves Keith’s lungs when Shiro appears on the other end of the feed—looking as healthy and _young_ as when Keith left. Good. Not too much time could have passed.

“Keith! What are you—” Keith can’t hear Shiro’s question, too many faces trying to squish together to see if it’s _really_ Keith on the comm.

“Keith?”

The voice isn’t loud but it breaks through the commotion Shiro let loose with the exclamation of Keith’s name; maybe it’s how crippled it sounds coming out of Lance’s mouth—the way his lips fumble the name like it’s a foreign dialect, too sharp in his mouth to fit properly—but something deep inside Keith’s chest stumbles and drops down into his stomach and it doesn’t settle well. Keith’s eyes dart to the corner of the screen, where Lance stands—prone, open and vulnerable—Keith can barely choke down the emotion that balls up in his throat and lodges itself there, insistent that the only words Keith should utter are an apology and an explanation.

Barely—but he _does_, and it’s like fighting a magnetic pull when he rips his eyes from Lance and back to Shiro. Keith isn’t sure how many seconds passed—from the uneasy looks from Shiro and the rest of the team, Keith thinks several too many—but then he takes a breath and forces the message past his lips.

“We’ll be warping to your location as soon as the ship can store up the power—we have news.” Even though the gravity of the words weigh in his chest, Keith has trouble casting them out when his attention is so stuck on the broken way Lance’s voice caught over his name.

The relay is kept short—Keith wasn’t exaggerating about the ship needing to gather power; it’ll take at least half an hour for this old Altean ship to build up enough energy to do the warp needed to get to Voltron without someone like Allura to feed it power directly. Keith has to keep his eyes trained on Shiro’s sharp, commanding presence to stop his gaze from straying back to the corner. When the feed finally cuts after the longest few minutes Keith has ever experienced, Krolia places a hand on Keith’s shoulder and he jumps, unaware of how stiff he’d gone.

“You’ve been flying too long; while the ship conserves energy, you should go stretch and I’ll contact Kolivan.” Krolia’s suggestion is practical—too practical, like she threw out the most logical reason he should step away from everyone and just go take a breather without having to admit that’s what he needed. Krolia’s expertise in stealth didn’t end in the physicality of the skill; Keith learned early on in their journey that she also never shied away from navigating difficult emotions with finesse and grace.

Keith wished that could have been hereditary, too. Instead he’s only ever able to navigate himself straight into the worst path any type of social situation can ever take. Still, he’s grateful for Krolia’s tact and goes to find an unoccupied corner of the ship to try to lower his heart rate before the damn thing decides to beat right out of his chest.

* * *

There’s so much anxious energy thrumming through Keith’s veins as he steps off the ship he feels it pulling him in every direction and he doesn’t know which one is right. The strongest tugging is toward Lance—wide eyed and stricken Lance, who’s bounding over after a stunned moment as soon as Keith’s feet touch the ground. Keith steels himself against that particular tug. As much as that energy is bundling itself up in his arms, aching to reach out after these godforsaken two years, he has a mission he’s still obligated to; he has to remind himself there will be an _after_—and that afterwards he can focus on what _he_ wants.

Something merciful causes Lance to stop short, his slowing footsteps ricocheting in the silence. “Keith, you—” The words choke off, disbelief keeping Lance’s eyes full and trained on Keith’s face. Lance’s eyes drift down, curving over Keith’s shoulders and chest before snapping back up. Keith allows himself to watch back, for just a second—before tearing his eyes away and stepping towards Shiro.

“Keith, where have you been? It’s so good to see you,” Shiro says, full of home and sincerity even if his eyes shift over Keith worriedly, and Keith lets out a breath.

“That’s a long story—one we don’t have time for. Where’s Lotor?”

“He and Allura just entered the quintessence field. Why?” Pidge answers, their expression full of questions but they eye Keith with an unsettling amount of _knowing_ and doesn’t ask any of them. Keith didn’t think he had really grown or changed much in the abyss, but he’s starting to doubt himself with all these unnerving stares.

“What’s wrong?” Lance asks quietly from Keith’s side and Keith whips his head toward the sound. It pangs somewhere deep in Keith’s chest that Lance can sense there’s something wrong; even after… However long, he _knows_ Keith. He hasn’t _forgotten_ him. Keith still resides somewhere within the boy he…

That raw vulnerability sets Keith’s nerves alight once again, and he has to clear his throat and refocus the lens of determination he points toward Shiro when he answers.

“Lotor has been lying to you. To us all,” Keith adds with as much gravity as he can gather from the weight of truth.

“About what?” Hunk laughs nervously, disbelief tinging the edge of the sound.

“About everything,” Romelle speaks up from behind Keith, who sighs at the long explanation he can feel coming. He steps back, eyes resolutely on the ground, to let her explain everything; the colony, Lotor’s god-like status, the “settlement,” his betrayal. It’s another story of loss that builds upon this mountain of bloodshed the war has caused in the tectonic collision between Zarkon and the rest of the universe. It’s sad, and it’s terrible, but it’s just as sad and terrible as every story that Voltron has tried to rewrite a happy ending for.

Keith funnels the heartbreak into the place in his soul that aches for all the lost lives and tells himself it’s okay to feel numb. He can’t feel for everyone; he can’t let the sorrow of the universe weigh down his every thought or he’d never be able to lift his arms to fight this war. He’s never been strong enough to hold the heartbreak of this reality in his arms and give the compassion each survivor needs to heal; he has barely stitched himself back together after his own suffering tore at his seams. That’s what _Lance_ did best, not him—Lance could give love and empathy and assurance as freely as the air he warmed with his smiles. Lance, somehow, could fight at all of their sides and still have the strength to lend his shoulder to those wracked with horror and dismay at the rubble surrounding their war zone.

Keith can feel the stare on him and it’s as if his runaway thoughts have sent a flare for the attention of the one person Keith is steadfastly trying to ignore. Keith’s skin feels aerated; each second that passes with those eyes searching every inch of the space Keith is trying _very_ _hard_ not to occupy feels like someone has injected air into his bloodstream and those bubbles are trying to escape through the itch under his skin. That itch crawls up the back of his neck and burns in the most tempting way—but he knows if he gives in, if he turns his head and allows that first scratch, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

It’s too much.

Keith’s nerves are too raw for this; every exposed neuron and axon are static that buzzes to the point of deafening him and he just has to _turn his head_ to—

“Here they come! Just got Allura’s transmission of the incoming dock,” Pidge alerts them all, breaking Keith out of his reverie.

“C’mon, then—let’s make sure Lotor gets a warm welcome back to the ship,” Shiro commands and there’s something tired but hard in his voice; it’s always something, never simple, and this fight must wear as heavily on his shoulders as the world would. Keith doesn’t miss that weight from his days in the Black lion but he still wishes he could bear some of it.

While others start to follow Shiro out to the hangar, Krolia stops Keith with a short tug on his arm. Apprehension fills his lungs as he breathes deep and turns to face her.

“You didn’t even look at him, son,” Krolia tells him evenly—no judgement, just a quiet observation, but it calls Keith out louder than an accusation.

“I—I _looked_,” _technically, _“besides, mother, it’s not like we have time to—” Keith cuts himself off, frustrated. He doesn’t know, okay? Doesn’t even know what he’d say if they _did_ have time, anyway. And she of all people should know why Keith should be focusing solely on the mission right now.

Krolia watches him for a heartbeat, her eyes blank as they search his carefully blank expression for whatever emotion she thinks he should be feeling right now. Whatever it is, she doesn’t find it. A resigned sigh pushes through her lips before she claps him on the shoulder and leads them toward the door. “We _do_ have a lot to deal with right now, you are right about that, Keith. _But_ that isn’t an excuse to avoid this issue. Don’t make the same mistake twice—you’re smarter than that.”

Keith leans into her palm even if the words are a truth he doesn’t want to hear. “And what if I’m not?” he asks just to be contrary; it almost feels satisfactory. Almost. He knows she’s right; it’s pathetic how easy it was to slip back into his old self, to slide into some mold he left behind. He knows he doesn’t quite fit perfectly anymore, though—his edges got sharper in some parts, sure, but he can feel the softening bits that were worn down with so much time to think and to just… Be.

Krolia sends him a sharp grin, “Then you get that from your father.” Keith barks out a laugh that feels too rough for the tense edges of the atmosphere; still, it helps calm his nerves as they finally step through the hangar. He feels those eyes on him again and the familial camaraderie isn’t enough to keep the weight of that stare from dragging all the last ounces of humor from Keith’s lungs. Krolia’s hand on his shoulder grips tight once—solid and warm and reassuring—and Keith—

Keith looks over and meets those blue eyes head on.

Even as the urge to catalogue every difference time had pulled out of Lance and etched into his appearance, Keith can’t move his gaze. So many questions burn into Keith from across the hangar; for a moment, he hates he can still read Lance so damn well even after all this time—hates that he can see the disappointment and betrayal so carefully woven into the deliberately empty look that is projected back at him. He hates that as well as he can read those emotions, he doesn’t know what they _mean_ from this Lance—he doesn’t know what _this_ Lance is going to say when they finally talk.

Keith doesn’t get to dwell too long. The hangar is soon filled with the commotion of the ship returning, grounding itself smoothly before the tense moments stretch between them all as the ship opens and both Allura and Lotor step out and lower themselves onto the hoverdisk that greets them. Something about how close they are—how downright _predatory_ Lotor’s hands look on Allura’s shoulders as he steadies her—sets Keith’s nerves on fire. His hand reaches for his knife before he’s even thinking about it and he’s stepping forward to Shiro’s side.

“Easy, Keith. Don’t give him a reason to think he needs to be defensive,” Shiro tells him lowly, one hand crossing in front of Keith’s chest. His eyes are tracking Lotor’s proximity to Allura too, his jaw working itself over tensely. Shiro’s right; they can’t risk Lotor using Allura as any type of shield or hostage if he catches onto their hostility. It rubs against Keith’s muscles like sandpaper, but he relaxes his grip on his knife and keeps his hand by his hip—ready and twitching.

Keith sees the confusion on Allura’s face as soon as she finally steps on firm ground and does a headcount with raised eyebrows.

“Keith? You’re back,” Allura’s greeting is stiff—whether from bemusement or disappointment at his sudden reappearance, Keith can’t be sure. With the way her eyes flick to Lance—well, Keith can’t exactly blame her if it’s the latter. Either way, it does nothing to deter Keith from his protective step forward.

A throat clears. “Princess, we have—well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to see for yourself, my dear,” Coran says gently, urging Romelle forward from behind the group. Keith watches Lotor’s face as Allura gasps; for a split second, shock crosses Lotor’s smooth expression before it evens out into something more calculated.

The fingers twitching at his hip quietly snap; the wolf’s snout presses into his palm gently and Keith gives him a quick pat before motioning behind Lotor. That wet nose disappears and Keith’s attention moves from Lotor to where the wolf has materialized by the ship—intelligent eyes watch Lotor as the wolf’s stance remains defensive. The extra set of eyes on the target helps ease some of the tension in Keith’s shoulders as Romelle gives a much shorter version of her story, warily eyeing Lotor. Keith watches as tension builds in Allura’s shoulders—her eyes whip to Lotor as soon as Romelle’s story mentions him, and whatever plea Lotor is trying to make with his eyes doesn’t seem to be working.

“Allura, I can explain.” Lotor’s voice is calm, like he knows he’ll be able to talk his way out of this once Romelle finally finishes nervously. It makes Keith sick.

“How?” Allura bites out, her hands steady at her side but curled into fists. “How do you explain that you’ve kept _my people_ a secret?” Allura advances toward Lotor. Keith takes another step, but a hand holds him back.

“Krolia, don’t—” Keith whispers harshly, barely moving his head toward his mom so he doesn’t have to let his eyes leave Lotor.

“Keith, she can handle herself,” Lance’s voice urges quietly in his ear and it shoots straight down his spine. “Let her fight this battle.” The words are devoid of emotion beyond a low insistence, but the hand on his shoulder ignites every sinew and tissue in his body; Keith suppresses a shiver and covers it with a rough pull forward as much as his chest screams at him to stay, to lean into that grip.

“We don’t know what _he’s_ capable of,” Keith grits out, unable to meet Lance’s gaze; unable to see what look of hurt he’s put there this time, with an inability to withstand even a _touch_ from Lance right now. Shame boils in his gut, but that heat is nothing compared to the inferno still blazing on his shoulder. His feet seem to sink deeper into the cement of that mold even if he tells himself not to settle into it.

“You forget what _she’s_ capable of.” The mutter comes only a second before Lotor is flipped over Allura’s shoulder and slammed into the ground of the hangar.

That’s when everyone rushes forward, even as Lotor is prone on the floor at Allura’s feet. A tense silence falls over them as her labored, angry breath fills the room. They all circle her hunched form, watching as her shoulders heave with breaths that shouldn’t be coming so hard from just one toss.

“Get him locked up,” Allura finally says too quietly. “Then meet me in the command room.” She stands and purposefully unclenches her fists and wipes them on the thighs of her suit. She barely tosses everyone a look over her shoulder as she says, evenly, “We have things to discuss.”

Coran and Shiro start to gather up Lotor between them as Allura is already halfway out the door. Hunk sighs.

“Man, can’t we just have one ally who isn’t crazy?” Hunk whines and Pidge snorts.

“To be fair, I don’t think Kolivan is crazy,” they comment dryly. “Intense, yeah. But probably not crazy.”

Krolia lets out a soft snort beside Keith. The tension starts to dissolve in the air. “In his own way, maybe,” Krolia adds quietly and it gets the attention of the room. Pidge’s eyes dart between her and Keith, too calculating for Keith’s comfort. Then they’re flicking to Lance and—

“Well, let’s show our guests to the command room. It’s gonna be a long night,” Pidge sighs and turns too quickly with a wave toward the door. Hunk eyes them and then Lance, clearing his throat rather deliberately.

“Yeah, uh, this way ladies. And uh, space wolf. Does he bite?” Hunk mock whispers as Krolia and Romelle join him. Keith moves to join them but that hand is back on his shoulder.

“Are you just going to keep pretending I’m not here, or…?” Finally, emotion returns to Lance’s voice—anger. Bitter, sour anger that curdles in Keith’s ears but he at least knows how to handle being a disappointment to Lance.

Shoulders too tight and jaw clenched hard enough to ache, Keith takes a deep breath. Lets it out. “Listen, Lance—” the excuse of _not now_ dies on Keith’s tongue when Lance forces him to turn. The incredulous hurt in his eyes is too much.

“Don’t you dare.” The threat is low, watery, but there’s no moisture in Lance’s stare—just so much resentment and resignation it blows a hole through Keith’s chest; it leaves a gaping, raw crater where his resolve should be—where his sensibility and dedication to the mission should reside, the torn tendons of determination hang limp instead.

“I—” Keith swallows, hard, somehow getting a breath out around that hole. It tries to suck out every pull of air like a void but he fights it, reeling himself back in by stepping into Lance’s gravity. “We’ll talk, okay, Lance? There’s too much—we don’t have _time_ now, Lance, and—” Keith pleads, searching Lance’s stare for an ounce of understanding. _Please_, he asks, knowing he has no right to ask anything at all. “After this meeting, we’ll talk, I promise.”

Lance’s laugh is something strained, humorless, _sore_. He yanks his hand off Keith’s shoulder and wipes it against his pant leg. Keith tries to not flinch.

“Sorry to break it to you, Kogane, but your promises mean _shit_ to me anymore. Just forget it.”

Before Keith can find even a syllable to choke out, Lance is through the door.

Fuck.

* * *

“We have to find the lost Alteans, wherever Lotor has taken them.” Allura’s hand cradles her forehead, a rare sign of exhaustion from the princess. She hasn’t looked up from the table since Romelle’s recount of the finer details of the colony, her usually pristine hair falling out of it’s bun and around her face in wisps that would look natural on anyone else but look out of place and distraught on Allura.

Lance’s hand is rubbing soothing circles over Allura’s back and each rotation is enough to make Keith twitch from where he watches across the room. “Allura, we _will_ find them. We’ll get answers from Lotor,” Lance promises with a determination that doesn’t even touch Allura’s expression.

“And then we’ll ensure he never touches another Altean again,” Coran’s firm voice adds, even and collected, but there’s a simmering rage beneath the surface. Keith can almost smell the fury rolling underneath his calm demeanor; not much shakes Coran, but this particular story is enough to push anyone over the edge.

“If we can figure out what he was trying to do with their quintessence, we might also be able to finally get a leg up in the war.” Shiro is contemplative, watching the table as well. The look in his eyes is too far away for Keith to know where it is he landed; after the recount of Romelle’s brother being captured once again, Keith can only guess where Shiro’s head is at.

“Yes, well, that’s only if we can trust the answers Lotor gives us,” Allura sighs, sitting up straighter and absently patting Lance’s hand as it comes to rest on her shoulder. Keith tries not to stare.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about that…” Pidge offers, an unusual hesitance in their tone from where they’re propped against the control panel. When everyone watches them expectantly, Pidge sighs. “We could always use the mind melder from team practice.”

Immediately there is objection. Very loud objection.

“Uhhh, Pidge, buddy, did you forget that’s a two way street?” Hunk laughs, near hysterically, turning his head to watch everyone else in the room as if to gain support. “He’d be able to see into whoever’s mind too!”

Keith shrugs. “Yeah, but if we’re keeping him detained anyway, what’s the harm? How else are we going to be able to trust anything he says?”

“Exactly, we can’t—” Pidge throws their hands toward Keith in agreement but Lance butts in.

“Woah, guys, _seriously_? You’re insane, that’s the _worst_ plan ever, and—”

“Actually, I think that’s a good idea. I will be the one to do it, as well.” Allura’s voice cuts through the commotion, hard and set like stone. Keith turns to watch her. There’s something deeply seated in her shoulders that tells him she’s ready to fight for this and no matter the outcome, she will be the one to do this. Allura has always seemed so sure of her actions, but this is different; like this is an inevitability that she knows she is the one chosen to incite.

“What? Allura, you _can’t_—” Lance sputters, something close to panic in his eyes. Keith tries to not read anything into it but… Well, time _has_ passed.

“I think you forget how much I _can_ do, Lance.” Cold and sharp, Allura’s gaze cuts through the objection and lands a wounding blow clearly reflected on Lance’s face. For only a second, though, before it’s gone and he’s pulling his hand away and turning to stare at the ground. The rejection echoes in the room; no one wants to tear the silence that drapes heavily across their shoulders. Keith watches the deep curve of hurt carve out Lance’s lips, drawing their edges downward, and the frustration chisels its way into the crease between his eyebrows. Keith’s fingers twitch forward, wanting to smooth out those wrinkles.

“Okay, so—” Shiro starts, clears his throat, “that’s settled then. We’ll have Lotor tell us his side, and then we’ll compare it with his recollection of it—we’ll see if he’s actually trustworthy enough to tell the truth the first time.” That tired weight resonates in Shiro’s voice again, but there’s resolve in there too.

“Great, so uh—well, now that we have _that_ figured out, do we want to address the whole space wolf in the room?” Hunk’s nervous voice accompanies the half-hearted swing of his arm as he gestures to the wolf and Krolia. Keith sighs; everything had happened so quickly, he’d been saved from the awkward introductions so far.

“Right. Team, this is Krolia. She’s....” Keith looks over to Krolia, who nods encouragingly. He swallows. “Well, she’s my mom,” Keith finishes quietly, unable to help the small smile that lifts the corners of his lips at being able to _say_ that. It’s surreal; he’s never been able to say those words to another person before. Never been able to provide that kind of introduction, and it had been so long since he was able to feel the deep familial comfort of a person’s presence and know that no matter what, she was at his side and supporting him. Since his father’s passing, it had only been Shiro; and even then, there was a niggling in the back of his mind that if he _failed_, if he lashed out just _one_ too many times, he’d be left alone again.

Looking back to the team, he realizes it had been utterly silent, then—

“Your _what_?”

“_Dude_, that’s amazing!”

“That’s insane!”

Keith cuts through the excitement with a small laugh that warms his chest for the first time in… Well, longer than he can remember. “Yeah, yeah it is. Krolia, meet the team. Pidge, Hunk, Coran, Princess Allura… Lance,” Keith gestures to them all, but unable to meet Lance’s eyes as he grazes over the introduction. A little more enthusiastically, he moves his hand toward Shiro, who is already stepping forward.

“Ah, you must be Takashi Shirogane. Thank you for everything you’ve done for Keith,” Krolia’s voice is calm but genuine, and it softens something in Keith’s chest. He wasn’t.... Worried, really, about how Krolia and Shiro would get along; at least their conversation way back when in the abyss had calmed most of his nerves about the inevitable meeting, but it was still a collision of two very separate worlds and Keith didn’t know how the aftermath would settle.

“Of course, ma’am, it was my pleasure. Keith—well, Keith is family.” Shiro clasps forearms with Krolia—an earnest smile reflecting in his eyes—and as much as the sentiment fills Keith with a pleasant heat, that heat quickly manifests in embarrassment burning his cheeks.

“Okay, yeah, no more of that,” Keith grumbles, nudging Shiro away with his shoulder and Shiro lets out a good natured chuckle that sounds almost foreign from him after so much that had happened the last time Keith had seen him. It sounds good to Keith’s ears, though, and he lets it cool that burn.

“Keith, this… Is truly incredible, really,” Allura approaches them and whatever cold greeting had overtaken her previously is nearly melted away by the genuine happiness she tries to convey to Keith with a soft smile. There’s still strain behind her eyes—he guesses the tension she still holds in his presence can’t be erased so easily—but she is _trying_. His and Allura’s relationship hadn’t always been the most… Stable, if he’s being honest with himself, but he knows the gesture is heartfelt and he appreciates the effort enough to return the smile.

Allura holds his gaze for a beat longer before extending a hand to Krolia. “As a Blade, you were already welcome on this ship, but as Keith’s mother—you are welcome to stay as long as you want. We are truly happy to have you with us.” The offer is warm but a little too polite, even to Keith’s socially inept ears.

Krolia takes the proffered hand and bows slightly, dropping her head in respect. “Thank you, Princess. It’s my pleasure to be welcomed aboard.” If Krolia could see whatever veil was thrown over the invitation, it doesn’t show in her tone.

“Well, I can see Keith didn’t get your manners,” Shiro laughs and Keith jabs his elbow towards his ribs in a quick, calculated shot. A small _oof_ breaks the rest of the tension that had overwhelmed the room as everyone laughs and starts to come over to introduce themselves. Keith slips out of the forming crowd, backing up with that smile still on his lips while he watches the team harass his mother.

“I’m… Really happy you found her, Keith,” Lance’s quiet voice pulls Keith’s attention away and to the corner, where Lance has knelt to pet the wolf—who is enjoying every second of new belly rubs. Keith isn’t jealous of an animal—he swears—but he does have to tear his eyes away from where Lance’s hands gently drag through that coarse fur to actually look at Lance. Lance doesn’t lift his eyes from the wolf.

The low admission is the first acknowledgment Lance has given him since he stormed out of the hangar, and Keith wants to cling to it desperately. It’s an opening that his heart wants to wedge itself into, refusing to let Lance run away again. They had a plan now, and Lotor was detained—if it meant he could manage to steal away some of that hurt in Lance’s eyes, Keith thinks the mission has been sufficiently dealt with so far.

“Thank you,” Keith breathes out. When Lance doesn’t say anything else—but also doesn’t look like Keith’s presence is going to make him crawl out of his own skin—Keith takes a few steps forward until he kneels on the other side of the wolf. His fingers disappear into the fur around his ears, and the wolf nearly melts at all the attention.

The proximity to Lance is intoxicating. Keith knows, rationally, Lance isn’t happy to see him; he can’t help the bubbling dizziness that’s threatening to erupt from his chest at actually being close to Lance again after so long though. It’s like a restart in a game where he had gotten stuck on the boss level for way too many turns. Lance is familiar but it’s been so long since he last visited that there are small details that catch Keith’s attention quickly and _keep_ it.

Unabashedly, Keith stares—his eyes track over every inch of this familiar-but-not terrain, hungry to memorize it again. He’s pretty sure Lance’s skin is at least two shades darker; they must have had a long mission on the surface of a warm planet. Sand and sun and reflections of warm water flash in front of Keith’s eyes. Keith’s mind supplements the image from the too-many flashes he’d gotten of whatever… Future the abyss had apparently thought could still happen, but Keith knows better. Knows whatever could-have-been that crossed paths with the two of them was lost in the chasm of cold silence stretched between them.

Freckles dot across Lance’s face; darker, imperfect flecks that splatter across the bridge of his nose and down under his eyes. They’re nearly unnoticeable from a distance, but this close Keith can see each one and wants to connect them with his fingers. Wants to drift his fingertips across that soft skin—is it still as soft as he remembers?—and meet the touch with lingering presses of his lips, too.

He was right; as soon as he let himself indulge in that first scratch, it feels like he’s going to rub himself raw with how badly he wants to make up for lost time.

“You can stop staring any time now, Kogane,” Lance clears his throat, eyes still downcast, but Keith watches—transfixed—as a deep red blooms under those freckles. The tip of Keith’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and if he thinks hard enough, he can almost remember what that skin tastes like.

“Sorry,” Keith tells him but even to his own ears he can hear the lie. He’s not sorry at all that he can watch Lance like this again. “I’ll stop.”

“Is that a _promise_?” Lance spits, and it’s acidic enough that Keith finally dissolves his helpless fixation.

“Lance—”

“Forget it,” Lance huffs, leaning back on his heels and pulling his hands away to wrap around his middle. The wolf whines; Keith wants to as well. Instead he gathers all the breath in his lungs and lets it out on a deep exhale before patting the wolf to move. With a huff, he complies.

Lance watches as the only barrier between them grumpily lops off to try to nuzzle some pats out of Romelle. There’s barely three feet between Lance and Keith but it might as well be a ravine filled with every _maybe_ that has left them breathing in nothing but dust.

“You’re mad,” Keith starts, trying to find words that will get Lance to look at him and immediately winces because—_nope_, those weren’t the right ones.

“No shit,” Lance laughs bitterly. He rocks a little on his heels and Keith sees his fingers tighten over his ribcage. Keith can feel those fingers like brands over his own skin.

“And you have every right to be. You don’t—I don’t expect you to forgive me, okay? But I want to explain. Everything,” Keith pleads, leaning forward far enough he feels himself threaten to pitch toward the ground. Lance’s eyes flick toward him once.

“Everything?” Lance asks tentatively.

“_Everything_, I—” Keith cuts off another promise, not wanting to set Lance off. “Even if it doesn’t make you want to forgive me, I think… I think it might make you feel better? To... Know?”

There’s silence that stretches an eternity between every pounding thud of Keith’s heart; the blood rushes in his ears as he watches the contemplation in Lance’s expression. This is the last, desperate snare Keith has to toss out to Lance; if he doesn’t at least tug at the bait, Keith doesn’t know how else to get Lance’s attention long enough to listen—to explain. The temptation for an explanation must be too strong to overcome because finally Lance is sighing and standing up.

“Fine. After this whole disaster of a plan with Lotor, you’ll… Get your chance, or whatever,” Lance tells him flippantly, hands curling over his arms now. He lifts himself from his crouch with a huff and scuffs the toe of one sneaker on the floor. “But that’s it—you get _one chance_, Kogane. No bullshit.” Finally he meets Keith’s eyes and even though it’s cold and skeptical, Keith feels warmed. He’s being given an opportunity—and that’s all he needs.

“No bullshit,” Keith parrots, nodding. He rises slower than Lance did, but when they’re both standing there Keith feels dizzy with how close they are.

Lance watches him for a moment and—and if Keith didn’t know any better, there’s the briefest flash of… Yearning? Deep in that ocean of mistrust, yeah—there’s the barest floor of longing filled with the smallest grains of faith that give Keith just enough stability to dig his heels in and _hope_.

____________________

They’re given an hour to get settled before Allura is going to confront Lotor. An hour and then they’ll finally get some answers and _then_—then Keith has another war to face. After entrusting his mother and Romelle to Coran so he can show them the rooms they’ll be given on the ship, Keith decides the only place he’ll be able to work out all this nervous energy is the training deck. There’s electricity thrumming in his veins at all the potential in front of him; a chance to finally get ahead in the war, to learn Lotor’s secrets, to give up his own—freely laid at the feet of the one person Keith thinks deserves to pass judgement on them.

He needs to redirect all that electricity before it burns him from the inside out.

Keith is surprised when the air of the training room is already alive, crackling with pounding blows and labored breathing. Flashes of dark skin jolts Keith to attention for the briefest of seconds before it’s accompanied with whipping white hair, loose and wild and drenched in sweat.

Allura steps around the training floor in a lethal dance of angry precision; her limbs move through the air with barely-contained power, danger clearly etched in the concentrated frown on her pretty face. Keith sighs, settling in against the wall; he accepts he’s not going to work out his own energy tonight. There’s too much tension in the way Allura’s body moves—wound tight like a coil that is ready to snap and cut anyone daring to exist close enough.

Keith knows it’s technically not his problem; he knows he… Really isn’t the best person to judge, all things considered. But there’s a flash of that look Allura had given him when he returned—not even the barest hint of genuine excitement that he had come back to a place he considered a _home_, and something about that itches under his skin. So—he dares to exist.

“End training session,” Keith calls out, loud enough to be heard over the metallic carnage and to grab Allura’s attention. She whips around, chest heaving in chaotic pants, a staff clanking to the ground. She stares at him like she doesn’t comprehend what she’s seeing; blank, unblinking eyes meeting his before she finally moves.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Allura calls out, stooping to pick up her lost weapon and huffing when she snatches it up from near her feet.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Do you want to be exhausted when you face Lotor, or…?”

Allura stiffens before narrowing her eyes at his relaxed posture, leaning against the wall and waiting for her to make the first move. “I beg your pardon? I know what I’m doing, Keith, thank you for your conce—”

“Listen, Princess, I mean no disrespect,” Keith sighs out, realizing he’d be waiting forever for that first step. He pushes off the wall and walks toward her, kicking one of the destroyed bots on the way; it rolls with a loud _clanging_ that feels too sharp in the air around them. “But I’ve been here before.” He doesn’t need to gesture around at the littered ground for her to understand what he means.

If possible, her eyes somehow narrow even further. There’s a fire there and Keith recognizes the need to divert it towards someone else—or those flames get so hot they threaten to boil you alive. “Yes, you have. So you of all people should understand why I’m here.”

“Yeah, I do. I get it, okay? Sometimes you just need to—” Keith shakes his head, frowning. “To just hit something, I know. But look at yourself—let me see your hands.” Keith makes a grab before she can pull away. Her knuckles are busted, blood pooled in the creases of her palms. Keith swipes the arm of his marmora suit across the bloody basin roughly, raising one unempathetic eyebrow at the wince that crosses Allura’s face. “At least wrap your knuckles, Princess.”

Allura huffs, yanking her hand from his grasp. She wipes her hands across the thighs of her suit, leaving dark stains behind. “I _know_ to wrap, I just—”

“Was in a hurry to beat yourself up?” Keith finishes for her, unimpressed. He crosses his arms across his chest, daring her to lie and deny it.

“What about you?” Allura shoots back, a glint of steel at the corner of her downturned lips. “You’re here too, are you not?”

A muscle twitches in Keith’s jaw. “Yes, I am.”

“You cannot tell me you weren’t planning on doing the same thing.” She takes a step forward, a challenge being thrown his way as she looks up to meet his eyes.

“I can—because I _wasn’t_. Believe it or not, I’m capable of _growing_. I learned, the hard way, that I can’t just—” Keith growls, frustration bubbling in his chest. “_Destroy_ myself instead of dealing with shit, okay?” There’s a curling wisp of satisfaction in his chest at the slight surprise that slips into Allura’s expression at his outburst. Whatever upper hand she thought she had—justification, maybe, because everyone just _knows_ Keith was always the one more likely to punch a problem rather than face it—falls off the edge of her lips as they open on a small, irritated huff.

“That’s _not_ what I—” Indignation flares in the space that surprise left. Allura cuts herself off, though, as Keith gives her the most unconvinced stare he can muster. The fire only dims in her eyes, though, even as her shoulders deflate and she takes a step back.

Keith sighs, reaching out and placing a hand on her shoulder. Allura startles—barely, but Keith tracks the movement with a pang in his chest—and looks at his hand. Keith refuses to let himself be overcome with the awkward heat that’s crawling up his arm, screaming at him to just let go and stop bothering with something that’s _not even his problem_ anyway—he knows this is a moment that feels _defining_, and he’s probably not going to get another one. Something unfamiliar and stale in his chest is screaming at him to take the moment and let it _carve_ something substantial out of the barren trenches between them.

“That… Wasn’t an accusation, okay?”

Allura doesn’t look so sure. “What was it, then?”

“An observation?” Keith tries, the fringe of that frustration still threatening to cut into his tone ground through clenched teeth. He drops his hand from her shoulder, rubbing it roughly through his bangs. “Listen, I just—” He lets his hand fall and hang by his side. “I’ve done a lot of things wrong. I think we all know that. But coming back here—I want to do things _right_,” he urges, and there’s a knowing look in her eyes that Keith really doesn’t like.

“Am I the one you should be telling this to?” Allura asks—not unkindly, but there’s a sharp edge to the question that knicks along Keith’s pulse.

“I’m… Handling that, not that it’s your business,” Keith mutters, clenching his fist. Shame begins to boil in his stomach, the vapors curling in his lungs. Allura scoffs.

“It is my business if it affects _my_ team, Keith.”

Keith’s eyes narrow. “Are you doubting Lance’s ability to focus on what’s important, _Princess_?”

“No,” Allura says simply, “I’m doubting yours.”

“I’m trying to _help_ you—”

“You have proven, historically, to have trouble prioritizing where the team is concerned,” Allura tells him, the fire in her eyes growing. “We have been jeopardized before due to your inability to make decisions that benefit _the team_. You have—”

“I get it!” Keith grits out, his jaw aching from how hard he’s grinding it. “I know I’ve fucked up, Allura. And I get that it’s still—fresh, for you. For the team. But for me—” Keith swallows his anger down, letting the acidity of it melt the ball of pride twisted in his throat. “But it’s not for _me_. I’ve had the time to change, you just have to let yourself _see_ it.”

Allura’s eyes narrow through her anger—measuring something Keith has long since stopped trying to figure out—before jumping wide with confusion. “Did you—do you mean to say that you experienced a time warp?”

Keith sighs, nails pressing hard into the palm of his hand at the thought of the time difference—he _knew_ there had to be one with the amount of gravitational spikes they endured, but more than most of him hoped diligently it hadn’t been too long since no one _looked_ too different. “We think it was a little over two years, our time.” He lets the words settle into the solemn lines of Allura’s face before he clears his throat and continues, “Best we can tell, at least. And considering no one looked like I’d just returned from the grave when they saw me, I’m guessing it hasn’t been too long here. Am I right?” _No more than a year_, Keith thinks, begs—the pain was too new, still, in Lance’s eyes; it hadn’t had time to scab, so no more than a year could have passed. If that, even.

“Less than half a year of yours. What’s it you call them—months? Five of those,” Allura tells him—her voice is decidedly more tender, but it still has an inflamed belly that’s sore to the touch.

Keith is careful not to prod it too much when he lets out a breath of relief. “Okay, that’s… Good. Yeah, that’s not too bad.” It’s not the most ideal, but it’s definitely manageable.

“Not bad?” Allura’s voice is skeptical, “Two of your _years_ is nothing to laugh at.”

Keith shrugs off her concern; he is unperturbed, mostly, at the time that passed for him. _His_ time means very little when the reality he’s occupying now is only five months ahead—it’s almost like taking a really long pause and resuming a video game when he really thought about it. The only thing that makes that pause stutter in Keith’s chest is the thought that Lance could have been waiting for him; could have just started thinking maybe Keith wasn’t coming back.

Allura huffs at his disregard. “Even so, why didn’t you tell us when you landed?”

“I—” Keith looks down, taking a deep breath; he’s not used to being so—so _open_ with someone who isn’t Lance or his mother. “I wanted to tell Lance first. It just didn’t—_feel_ right, I guess, letting him find out in front of everyone. We didn’t—well, I was supposed to come right back, and—” Keith cuts himself off, unable to stop the words but also unable to find where they came from. He can feel each syllable slip between his lips and he can’t even draw from the well they emerged from.

Allura manages to barricade against the tidal rush of admission and doesn’t flinch at the mention of a _them_. Keith can’t tell if it swells into anything more than previous suspicion, or if she’s bothered by the notion; and if she is—is it because of the effect it would have on the team? Or more _personal_ concern? The thought that Lance would fall back into his old infatuation once he realized Keith wasn’t coming back to talk any time soon had leaked into Keith’s late nights more than he’d like to admit.

A small part of Keith tries to tell him that he should probably be jealous; Allura is strong and beautiful in so many ways—in her kindness and wisdom, in her gentle laugh and warm eyes, and the way her determination can inspire hope rather than intimidation. Between this and everything she has been through—everything she’s _meant_ to do—the only thing Keith can feel though is admiration. Beneath it, huddled in the fractures of his sense of relationships, is a small sense of betrayal—meager but putrid, tasting like acid and looking like a turned shoulder after finding out his heritage. There’s a sting that echoes in his chest at the thought of fighting toward something, for a cause _she_ led—only for it to be rendered worthless under one glance.

Still, Keith thinks out of most people, Allura deserves happiness—and if that was at the cost of his own, if his own missed mark drove Lance looking for somewhere else to land, then well. At least Keith is used to having to say goodbye to the people he loves.

Once the emotional flow seems to temper into a drizzle, Keith dares to open his mouth against the weighty current between them. “I wanted to tell him first, so I could make sure he knew I was coming back.” He can’t tell whether or not he means that as a statement to Allura, as well—a warning of intent, the tipping of a hat into a ring that he can’t see the edges of.

There’s a moment of tense silence. Allura watches him—eyes flickering about his face, neutral but judging. Then, a quiet, “Okay,” she breathes, “okay, I understand.”

A gentle but adorned acknowledgement—_acceptance_. It’s rough but sturdy, filling the space between them for a stilted moment while the dynamic shifts between breaths. Keith leans into it, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

It feels better than Keith thought it would for him and Allura to come to some sort of understanding—and to know that if she is in pursuit of Lance, at least she accepts his own chase, if Keith is being completely honest. Even before his time in the abyss, he realized how much he had come to consider Voltron his family but the extra amount of time to wonder—and worry—and _think_ didn’t help how much Keith wants to make sure he can still stitch this makeshift family of his back into something resembling stable.

It still surprises him how glad he is it seems this seam can still be mended.

“I’m glad,” Keith says, honestly.

Allura gives him a small smile and Keith finds himself returning it easily. “Alright, then. I suppose we should start getting ready for our little experiment, hmm? Shall we?” Allura clears her throat, and suddenly the weight of the moment starts feeling like an awkward heat growing up Keith’s neck. It’s the type of raw that you get when you clean a wound—it’s ultimately for the best, but once the worst is over, it becomes even more inflamed.

Still, Keith sees the edge of that smile tucked away in the corners of Allura’s eyes and it’s enough to make him feel like he’s taken a step forward instead of back.

* * *

The anxiety from waiting while Allura and Lotor scientifically-magically-_whatever_ meld their minds together is contagious enough that everyone seemed on edge while they waited in the control room of the training area, watching the two prone forms through the glass. Lance has paced the room for the last several minutes; Keith knows the attempt won’t take long, so he idly thinks that Lance might actually succeed in pacing like a hen in a cage the _entire_ time.

Keith thinks it might be the smallest, most ridiculous part of him that’s annoyed by how concerned Lance is. Because logically he, too, is worried about Allura. Every single one of them is. It is currently the general consensus for mood in the room, but it still twinges between Keith’s ribs every time Lance finishes another circuit. Keith can’t help but pick at the slightly-too-tight jeans he found in his old drawers, his fingers agitating the frayed hem in an attempt to distract himself.

Keith thinks how much it’d help to know what’s going on up in Lance’s head right now—to be able to reach in and snag the parts that cause him so much distress and know he’s _allowed_ to, that Lance would _want_ to lean on him. He wants to earn back that kind of trust from Lance—he thinks that if there ever is a hope for a second chance between them, their next meeting will determine it.

Keith really, really hopes he doesn’t fuck it up.

Until then, he’s pretty sure Lance would not want him trying to ease his anxiety right now no matter how much Keith itches to try. So Keith waits, a crawling irritation ticking up his spine with each passing minute—every new lap for Lance—and it’s an almost painful relief when Allura and Lotor start slowly moving from down in the training room.

They all scramble to the hoverpad that leads down to the lower level, and Keith takes the moment he’s squeezed in behind Lance to take a deep breath in, steadying himself on the clean scent Lance always seemed to have. That’s the only moment he gets before they reach the bottom of the floor and move as a group to where Allura is helping Lotor into a standing position.

Keith narrows his eyes at the exchange but tells himself that Allura will know if it’s wise to trust him after this. Keith has to keep reminding himself there isn’t just one possible outcome here—really, even if Lotor has started giving him the creeps they all should actually be hoping that he’s been telling them the truth.

“It does seem Lotor has been telling the truth, from his memories. He did in fact last visit the colony many years ago, since he became too absorbed in his role adjacent to Zarkon,” Allura’s voice is neutral, calm. Keith still doesn’t want to believe it.

“What about all the trips he took, stealing away Alteans then?” Romelle beats Keith to the questioning, her anger something Keith can feel resonate somewhere deep in his own chest. He understands the need for justice and every step towards it feels too monumental—so you lash out at the first thing you can justify it on, trying desperately to find an outlet.

“Like I have said, that was _not me_—” Lotor’s voice is hinging on impatience, and Keith wants to scoff but manages to keep it in because he’s _grown_ as a person.

Allura clears her throat again. “Clearly, we have a lot of details to figure out from here. I know this is hard, but we knew this could happen. We chose to accept whichever possible outcome the truth would lead to when we involved our memories.” Allura’s voice is steady—commanding, even if the edges of it are softer than Keith would ever be able to manage when addressing a room, he thinks. “So,” Allura breathes in, standing up a little straighter as well, “I think it would be best for Lotor, Shiro, Coran, Romelle and myself to get to work on trying to find answers to all of our questions.”

There’s a steely rigidity to the set of Allura’s shoulders that forces the paladins and company to accept her decision; everyone left unnamed begins to leave, allowing the rest of them to start dissecting the differences between Lotor and Romelle’s recollections. Keith feels like the breath of relief they should be taking right now is still caught in his throat; there’s still another step coming with this whole mess, and Keith is starting to get the feeling that step will just lead to a whole new staircase.

And then there’s Lance—who _did_ agree to meet with Keith after they finished this little lie detector experiment and Keith starts to thrum with a new kind of anxiety when Lance seems to come to the same realization as he catches Keith’s stare as they start to get close to the bedrooms.

As Pidge and Hunk both end up drifting off down different paths in the hall with excuses Keith honestly didn’t even listen to, his heart starts to splinter his ribs with how hard it’s beating. “So. Since it seems we have some time, do you think we could talk?” Keith’s voice teeters on a ledge that hopefully leads to safety, if Keith can just manage to avoid slipping.

Lance slows to a stop and Keith is almost afraid to look at him; if he does and Lance has changed his mind, he’s not sure if he could handle it. When Lance doesn’t answer for one, hammering heartbeat, though, Keith’s nerves get the best of him and chance a look over. Lance, surprisingly, is just staring at Keith with something close to scrutiny.

“Fine. Yes, we can talk,” Lance seems to come to a decision he doesn’t want Keith to see because next he’s pushing past Keith and walking faster than before down the hall. Keith’s heart trips over one of those pounding beats when his legs recognize the old familiar path to Lance’s room. When they reach the door—quicker than Keith remembered the walk being, but that could also be the determined pace Lance had set—Lance takes a moment and stares at the door for a second and Keith watches as his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath.

Right as Keith starts to wonder if he should say something, Lance whirls around. There’s fire burning in his eyes. “Let’s get one thing straight, okay? This isn’t a platform for you to try to sell me any excuses, Kogane. You’re here because frankly, I deserve some answers.” There’s a silent echo of _I deserved better from you _that rings in Keith’s ears and honestly, he agrees.

“You do,” Keith tells him steadily. There must not be much expectation or hope shown in his expression, because Lance seems satisfied enough to slap the entry panel and lead Keith inside.

“Make yourself comfortable, I guess. But not too comfortable,” Lance narrows his eyes as if it’s an afterthought and Keith rolls his eyes internally. Lance somehow can change and still be so _Lance_. Keith shuffles in, the air stifling with the weight of Lance’s watchful stare. Unsure of where else to go, Keith gingerly takes a seat on Lance’s bed.

The mix of emotions thrumming through Keith's veins is almost too much to take; the way Lance is watching him—cautious and closed off and so, _so_ careful—kindles a spark deep in Keith's chest, blooming and expanding into something that burns to earn a look of trust again even as it’s easy to get lost in the guilt that radiates from every inch of Keith’s skin Lance’s eyes bore into. Keith doesn't move from his spot on the bed though, dangling arms resting on open knees, letting Lance come to him. Letting him know Keith is here, open and waiting; that he'd wait a lifetime for another chance to make Lance happy.

It's only been a few months for Lance, but God—at every opportunity, Keith wants to drink in every detail of Lance’s existence, letting even the slightest change from the mental picture of Lance he's kept with him fill in the gaps from his memory. There's more sharp edges to Lance's jaw, a more defined tone to his shoulders under his shirt—he must have thrown himself at training after Keith left, and Keith wants to laugh at the irony. He can’t see those freckles from this distance, but Keith can tell his hair is longer, maybe; it's curling around his temples, the back of his neck, and Keith would have remembered an image so beautiful.

“I just noticed. Your hair,” Keith rasps out finally, “is longer.” Keith immediately regrets saying such a stupid thing as soon as it leaves his mouth.

Lance's expression doesn't falter. “That's what happens when you're not around. Time passes, things change.” His arms cross over his chest, hands wrapped tightly around his ribs, and he looks small. Small in his own room, his own space; it's wrong, and Keith feels guilty for taking this place that should be home to Lance and making it into something too big for him.

“I know.” Keith swallows dryly, fingers tangling together from where they’re hanging between his knees. He forces himself to keep eye contact with Lance, even though his eyes feel weighted toward the ground. “And I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I… Appreciate that you’re giving me a chance to explain.”

Lance watches him, eyes scrutinizing and calculating. Keith watches a muscle in his jaw flex—his lips pulled tight, bitten between his teeth. For a moment, Keith fears that Lance has changed his mind—that he isn’t willing to listen to more of the words he’s unwilling to believe that come from Keith’s mouth, and the thought sets Keith’s nerves on fire. But then Lance’s posture opens as he stalks across the room and loudly drags the desk chair across the room and sets it right in front of Keith. Lance plops down—arms and legs crossed—and jerks his chin up toward Keith.

“Okay, Keith. I said you can have your chance, and _I’m_ not a liar. But just because I'm letting you explain _doesn't_ mean I'm willing to forgive you—you better remember that, _buddy_.”

Keith lets out a breath, shoulders releasing some tension. “That's all I'm asking for—just a chance. I know I don't deserve anything else.”

Lance sniffs. “Well, I'm glad we're starting off on the same page.”

Keith huffs out a laugh, the attitude something he had been expecting from Lance but he didn’t expect himself to enjoy being on the receiving end of it. But having Lance mad at him means Lance is in _front_ of him, he’s there and within reach and at least thinking about Keith—even if it’s not in the way Keith wants. It’s still more than what he was expecting during those anxious nights in the quantum abyss; the ones where Keith couldn’t help but think of the worst case scenarios—coming back to a team that had aged beyond recognition, to dying out in the abyss and never being able to make amends—

Those nights were always the worst to stifle. They would fight back, rearing up and threatening to take over every thought, but Keith got better at keeping them at bay through practice.

Keith takes a deep breath and sits up a little straighter. Meeting Lance’s eyes is harder than all the battles he fought on those worst nights, but he knows Lance deserves _that_ much at the very least. The nerves must show on his face, because for a split second there’s something soft easing the harsh arch of Lance’s eyebrow but then it’s gone as quick as it came. That small opening in Lance’s armor is enough to encourage Keith to open his mouth and just exhale everything he’s wanted to say for the last two years.

“I was going to come back,” Keith starts and doesn’t let the skeptical look Lance gives him deter the rest of his admission. “I had one mission left I already committed to, but afterwards—I was going to talk with Kolivan, see if we could get something worked out that would keep the Voltron and Blade alliance intact.”

“And if he said no?”

Keith sighs. “Well, it would make things harder. But I had no intentions of staying with the Blade any longer either way.”

Lance scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You were going to just, what? Defect from the Blade?”

Keith narrows his gaze, accepting the challenge if that’s what it was going to take. “Not defect, I’m not _that_ stupid. Plus we still have the entire Alliance to think about. But if I had to suddenly stop being an asset to missions to the point where they didn’t _want_ me anymore? Well,” Keith’s lips curl into a grin that has Lance shaking his head on a laugh that seems to come out despite his resolve to give Keith a hard time. That laugh is enough to fill Keith’s chest with something edging close to hope.

“Okay, so say I believe you were gonna come back—not that I _do_, bud, but let’s _say_ I do,” Lance adds quickly, trying to look stern, but he softens into something heartbreakingly vulnerable when he asks, “then what kept you? You left for _five months_, Keith. I thought—” Lance breaks off, swallowing thickly before tearing his eyes from Keith’s. Keith’s lungs constrict at the pain he saw in those few seconds.

“I—” Keith starts, hands itching to reach out, but he stops himself. For the briefest of seconds, he thinks about making something up that might sound more believable. Getting stuck on a _space whale, sorry babe, I know I should have called_ doesn’t sound very convincing and Keith is afraid it might not be enough of the truth for Lance to keep listening to him.

But he knows that if he isn’t honest now, he’ll never be able to be. He can’t start off this tentative, fragile thing they are holding between them with a _lie_. Even if Lance laughs in his face, Keith is going to do this _right_.

“It was longer than five months,” is what he’s finally able to breathe out.

Lance stills. Keith watches as he seems to process the information, slowly looking back up from the ground with narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?”

“For me, it was longer than five months. The mission—we had intel on a place related to Lotor, where we found Romelle, but it was dangerous.”

“Of course it was, it’s the _Blade_,” Lance mutters. Keith ignores him.

“It was in the middle of a quantum abyss.”

“_What_? Dude, those are only theoretical.”

Keith rolls his eyes. Out of everything they’ve seen out in space, and _this_ is what Lance questions? “Back at the Garrison, sure, they’re still theoretical. We knew it was dangerous—there’s practically no science on how explorers will be affected by the quantum and gravitational waves, but we trusted the intel and knew we had to take the chance. So, it was just my mom and me.”

The tense line of Lance’s shoulders eases at the mention of Krolia. Lance knows how much it means for Keith to have found his mom—that softness relaxing Lance’s posture is enough to tell Keith he still at least marginally cares about Keith and his well being; it lights a new fire inside of Keith, urging him to burn on.

“Turns out vast fields of quantum gravity and radiation is enough to warp time around us,” Keith tells him quietly, unable to admit to the things he saw that were snatched straight out of the timeline itself, things that he should never have glimpsed—that he hasn’t lived through yet, will _never_ live through. His eyes can’t seem to find Lance’s; the absurd weight of his words is too heavy, dragging his gaze to the floor and holding it there.

The air between them is heavy with it too—hung in the inches separating them, like a noose threatening to pull too tight against the ball of heat growing in Keith’s throat. Keith’s fingers tremble with the density of this truth; he presses his palms together, hanging between his knees, in an attempt to hide the tremors. It’s almost too much, being this bare before Lance with no defense at the ready. There is no shield he can drop to protect himself if Lance doesn’t believe him.

Keith clears his throat once, hesitantly continuing. “So, uh. Yeah. Longer than five months, for us. There were other effects, too. Time—it doesn’t exist right in the abyss. We—”

“How long?”

The question is quiet but strong, demanding in its utterance. Keith freezes, hands steady in his surprise that Lance seems to—to believe him, at least. He looks up from the floor, filling his chest with a calming breath before meeting Lance’s eyes. The intensity he finds there is enough to steal that breath right back out of his lungs.

Keith holds that stare as long as he can—one heartbeat, maybe three—before he has to look away again. “...Two years, we think. We couldn’t keep up with the exact time, but—yeah, it seems like it was two years for us.”

Lance sucks in a wet breath that breaks the heavy silence that had been blanketing them; it’s a fissure in the tension, cracking out and spreading and reaching its splintering fingers for Keith’s resolve to give Lance space. Keith’s hand reaches out before he is even looking up to find horror replacing that intensity in Lance’s eyes, and then—then Lance’s fingers are meeting his halfway, grasping tight against Keith’s. The touch is grounding and shatters Keith at the same time; an electric warmth spreads through Keith’s palm at the contact, and he soaks in every second.

“Two years? You lost_ two years?_” There’s something so sorrowful in the question that it burrows into Keith’s chest and _aches_.

Keith’s thumb hesitantly rubs over the back of Lance’s hand. “I didn’t lose anything, Lance. It took—well, it took what it took to get to New Altea. And with only five months passing here, if anything I only lost that.” He isn’t sure why Lance and Allura both seem so hung up on the time warp.

Lance’s sorrow twists into something with more edges. His fingers tighten against Keith’s, pulling his hand closer as Lance catches Keith’s eyes with an insistent determination. Keith feels stretched between them, captured and entranced by the intensity of Lance’s gaze. His shoulders are set with a steady conviction, broad and bunched up as Lance leans forward into their clasped hands.

“No, Keith. You lost two years of your life what, floating in space? For a mission?” There’s an anger that leaks out around the word _mission_, oozing in a way that settles wrong in Keith’s belly.

“If we hadn’t gone—” Keith starts, indignation growing, but Lance raises their hands to his lips and all words die on Keith’s tongue; instead they melt into the warmth that grows immediately on Keith’s cheeks as Lance presses a light kiss to the back of Keith’s hand.

“If you hadn’t gone, you wouldn’t have found the Alteans. It’s important, I get that,” Lance sighs out that anger, dissipating it in the air between them and turning into something a little more gentle. The words brush against Keith’s fingers and his eyes track the movement of Lance’s lips with rapt attention; it takes a heartbeat to realize his own mouth is still hanging open on an unfinished retort before clicking his jaw shut. Lance watches him with a soft amusement, warmth settling into the edges of his eyes as he presses another kiss to Keith’s thumb before pulling himself back up. Keith is acutely aware of the way Lance drops their hands to rest on his knee. “I get it, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy that it happened to you, okay?” Lance holds his stare for long enough Keith realizes he’s expecting an answer; he almost doesn’t want to give one, if it means keeping Lance’s attention on him for a little longer.

Keith swallows. “Okay.”

The corner of Lance’s lips lift at the dry rasp of Keith’s answer, his eyes flicking down to Keith’s mouth and then down to their hands before sighing and leaning back. Lance gives Keith’s fingers a squeeze before letting go, and Keith’s palms immediately itch to reach back out. He pulls his hands back to rest on his knees instead.

Lance sighs again, rubbing his hands through his hair before dragging them down his face. “Okay. So. For the sake of honesty, I feel like I should tell you something.”

Keith’s heart lurches in his chest before dropping out of his ribcage. This is it; this is where Lance tells him he’s moved on, that he—he found someone else, someone that could actually give him everything Keith wouldn’t back then. Keith’s mind flashes to the gentle assurances Lance had offered to Allura—they way his fingers worked over her back, so unashamed in their affection in front of everyone—and it burns. Keith’s fingers grip his knees, but he’s determined that whatever Lance tells him, he’ll support him. Lance deserves that much.

“Your messages… They came through.”

Keith’s world stops. “What?”

Lance’s fingers twitch where they start tapping against his knees. “Yeah. I mean, I guess once you got into range they just… All came through? Your communicator must have backlogged the signals and… Yeah. I got them. All at once.”

Something burns inside Keith. Not quite embarrassment, but just as raw. Even though he sent those messages, he never… The thought Lance would ever read those desperate grasps at a past Keith was missing was never fathomable. Those were untouchable moments, things Keith had thought were lost to time and quantum space.

“You… Read them?”

Lance huffs out a laugh, eyes darting to the corner of the room and sticking there. “I did. At first, I didn’t know what to think—those were confusing as hell, man—but then when I saw you during that transmission, I just… I knew something had happened. I just didn’t want to believe what I was seeing.”

“But—why? That’s—” Keith sputters, realization that Lance _knows_; he knows Keith was going to come back for him, knows Keith was thinking about him, that he— “That means you know how much I mean it when I say I was going to come back, Lance. Why wouldn’t you want to believe that?” Keith asks earnestly, being pulled forward by the tender strings of hope that tether him to this admission. He grabs for Lance’s tapping fingers, squeezing them between his own.

Lance’s expression softens. More than that, it—it _melts_, full of warmth and—something so, so sorrowful that it nearly makes Keith pull back. Lance holds him in place, though, and strokes his thumb across the rough skin of Keith’s palm.

“Oh, babe,” Lance breathes and the endearment burns against Keith’s skin and that hope turns into an inferno that threatens to roast him alive. “That _means_ you had to go through so much. I just—that thought just eats away at me. I hate knowing that, not to be a broken record. You’re here, and the mission was important; but the cost was so, _so_ high. I just… Think about everything you missed. Everything _I_ missed. I—” Lance chokes up, clearing his throat roughly. He lets a tear fall, though, hands still clinging to Keith’s with a desperation that only adds to the fire in Keith’s blood. Keith watches as it tracks down and drips off the jut of Lance’s chin, fingers twitching to wipe it away even as Lance ignores it stubbornly.

Keith hesitates, the soft comfort he wants to wrap around Lance a foreign feeling bubbling up inside him. Even with Krolia—who is so similar to Keith it ached, sometimes, knowing _that_ was the piece he had been missing all his life—he hadn’t needed too many soft feelings. She understood things he barely knew how to put words to implicitly, and anything he offered up otherwise was accepted with a gentle awareness of Keith’s way of communication. Things had been simple between them, even with their frayed edges; Lance, though, has fringes and seams that need a gentle and steady hand to sew back together.

This thing hanging between him and Lance feels even more fragile than when it first broke through the surface of their craggy friendship. Keith wants to cradle it to his chest but his fingers are shaking with the need to do it right this time. “I… Get it. I think. But I can’t think of the time in the abyss as a bad thing, Lance. It—yes, it was hard and it—” came close to breaking him, sometimes, but that admission burns too hot against his tongue so instead, Keith clears his throat.

“Keith—” Lance’s voice is choked with waves from the storm brewing in his eyes. There’s a crest that breaches Lance’s control, apparently, because then there’s two tears that surge down his cheeks. That feeling rolls in Keith’s chest; the winds are so strong they knock against his ribs and syphon his breath to join the growing hurricane and it urges Keith on.

“I grew, Lance. I… Learned a lot. About myself, about my _mom_. About what I wanted.” Keith meets Lance’s eyes and grips his hand tight—an anchor thrashing against the waves, trying to pull them both to something close to shore. It’s a plea but it’s also an offering—to take what Keith is so willing to give, an invitation to finally haul in the spoils of this turbulent relationship that has only left Lance bruised and buffeted in his softest parts so far. “About what I _want_, Lance. And I don’t think I could have learned any of it without going through that. So… I get it. But I don’t want you to feel bad about something that helped me grow, okay?” And it’s _true_; his growth was reaped from the debris of so many of Keith’s mistakes being laid out in front of him—honestly and violently, forced behind his eyes so he couldn’t ignore them any longer. He can’t think of that time as anything other than a blessing on the barren ground that was his razed life.

There’s another tear tracking down Lance’s cheek now and Keith finally reaches out to wipe it away with those shaking fingers. Lance’s eyes follow his hand—something close to rapture in that storming ocean—before falling shut at the gesture; he leans against Keith’s palm and Keith thinks _this is it_. The weight of Lance against Keith’s hand feels as heavy as the world, and Keith wants to bear it for the rest of his life. If the time in the abyss with his mother was the irrigation, then this moment is the first budding of rebirth Keith wants so badly to thrive. Like a blossom surrounded by nothing but desert; stronger because it survived—it adapted—it’s _alive_.

“Okay,” Lance offers quietly, the words sinking into that fragility and lending it a little more strength; bracing it with the beginning of a foundation Keith wants to nurture. Wants to give it life. “Okay, Samurai. I won’t.”

The agreement breathes stability into the moment, something soft but sturdy and Keith sighs out a deep relief. It pulls him closer to Lance, his warmth familiar and Keith aches for it. Lance leans in too, eyes wide but smile small and easy. The storm has passed; the clouds break, and light shines in the flecks of dark blue in Lance’s eyes.

Before Keith thinks better of it—before he can worry about that foundation cracking under the first step of a new pressure—Lance is closing the miniscule distance between them and pressing that smile to Keith’s lips and—it’s a rush that tears the breath out of Keith’s lungs and pushes him closer. Lance tastes like an eternity of waiting finally curling into something _realized _and tangible; air trembles between their lips before Lance nudges away even that facade of separation with the touch of his tongue to the seam of Keith’s mouth. Keith’s pulse beats wildly in his ears, an anthem of reckless impulse that urges him to deepen the kiss with a need so buried it had long ago settled into the marrow of his bones.

The first slide of Lance’s tongue against his elicits a groan from his chest that rumbles against Lance’s lips; Lance echoes it with a soft whine that draws him closer, hands coming up to cup the sides of Keith’s neck. His thumbs stroke against the cut of Keith’s jaw and it stirs a desperation Keith hasn’t felt in ages, his pulse trembling under each point of contact Lance presses into his skin.

There’s a whimper threatening to burst from deep within Keith’s throat, choking against the heartache finally stitching itself up. The seams are so tender—still in peril of bursting again with the wrong pressure—but the invocation for forgiveness still fresh in his lungs breathes enough life into Keith that he’s able to move his lips against Lance’s with fervor.

“Lance,” Keith gasps around the plea of a name and Lance nods frantically, as if agreeing to anything Keith could possibly ask. That thought alone is enough to pull all reason out of Keith’s mind and every desire he’s held back to reverberate through his senses. Those winds that battered his ribs pick back up; knocking against his lungs and forcing their way out on a sigh that Lance swallows up like it’s the first sip of communion in this parish of desperate longing.

“I missed you. I missed you so damn much,” Lance quickly breathes the frayed admission into Keith’s mouth before pulling him in again and Keith is helpless but to be drawn towards him. He wants this. He wants _Lance_. He wants—

“We can’t—” Keith drags himself back, the weight of every lost moment between them heavy in the distance. “Lance, slow down. I want—God, I want to. I want _you_, but—”

Lance is blinking slowly at Keith, mouth half open and thumbs still encouraging on the edge of Keith’s jaw. It’s maddening, but Keith has to ground himself in his determination to do this _right_; he won’t get another chance, and he refuses to mess this up again.

“But what? It’s been _so_ long, Keith—” Lance leans back in but Keith stops him with a gentle press of his forehead to Lance’s. With closed eyes, Keith takes a steadying breath. It barely helps; he can smell the fresh, clean scent that Lance somehow always has.

“I know. Trust me, I know,” Keith laughs out something soft and quiet and full of strained self restraint. “But I don’t want to mess this up again, Lance. And I think… Rushing back into things? That’ll break whatever this is—before we even have a chance to form it.”

Lance’s breath evens out after a few strained beats of silence. Then he’s blowing out a long gust of air and it tickles against Keith’s nose. “Yeah, you’re right,” Lance grumbles but those thumbs don’t stop against Keith’s skin and it untangles the knot of anxiety in Keith’s chest. “Let’s do this right, Cowboy.”

“Thank you, Lance. I just… I want to earn these feelings I have for you. Will you let me do that?”

There’s a warm press of lips against Keith’s forehead as Lance shifts forward and it’s enough to gather heat behind Keith’s closed eyes. “Yeah,” Lance brushes the word against Keith’s skin. “Yes. Please.”

Keith sighs, lighter than he remembers feeling in a lifetime. “Thank you.” He shifts, brushing his cheek against Lance’s jaw as he falls forward and into Lance’s chest. Keith feels the fluttering beat of Lance’s pulse tremble against where his nose is pressed into the warm skin above Lance’s collar; it’s small, and it feels almost juvenile, but Keith can’t help the pleased smile that stretches his lips—Lance is so nervous his heart is racing, and that’s enough to fill Keith with a giddy anticipation that spreads from his grin all the way through his chest and down to his toes.

“What’s so funny, huh?” Lance grumbles, but the words are barely more than a rumble against Keith’s lips and Lance’s voice sounds a little too breathy to pass as irritated.

“Nothing,” Keith breathes out, “this all just feels so…” That smile catches on the edges of the admission, stealing the words away and leaving Keith at a loss. It’s so much, and yet it’s barely anything at all—it’s like this moment between them is the beginning of something so heavy that the air in Keith’s lungs is dense enough to collapse stars with the gravity of it, but it’s also as if this moment has already come and gone and left them worn into a singularity too big for this universe.

“Feels big, doesn’t it?” Lance whispers and Keith can feel the curl of his lips into a small, secret smile hidden against Keith’s temple.

“Yeah,” Keith whispers back, the everything in his chest growing by the second, “it feels like it’s gonna be huge. I…” Keith swallows. “I want to be something big for you, Lance. I want to be important. I want to earn that.” Lance’s hands—previously idle at the crease of Keith’s hips and thighs, thumbs twitching to brush at the skin above Keith’s belt line every few heartbeats—lift up and rest on either side of Keith’s ribcage; it’s a grounding move, circulating all the orbits between them and funneling them into twin anchors of gravity that rise and fall with every short intake of breath Keith manages to release.

“I get what you mean,” Lance’s lips press the reverent confession into strands of Keith’s hair. “It always had felt like… Like so much _potential_, you know? But this feels more…”

“Solid?”

“So solid,” Lance agrees on an easy sigh, echoing the words with a gentle squeeze against Keith’s ribs. Keith presses a kiss into the fluttering pulse at his mouth, Lance’s skin warm and welcoming. Every moment feels like it’s expanding from an atom into something densely packed into a foundation, and Keith finally feels like he can settle into it. He isn’t afraid of the next step, because he knows Lance will take it with him.

Time doesn’t seem to be a constraint Lance worried himself with, because soon his fingers are stroking flickering supernovas across each of Keith’s ribs like every second is a millennia he’d like to stretch out. Keith loses himself in the eternity of it, eyes closed tenderly on the urge to fill this pocket of infinity with every thought he’d wanted to share with Lance for the last two years—hell, longer than that—but unwilling to break the soft intensity of the moment.

Too much time passes for their parting to equal anything less than a goodbye, this late into the night. It reflects in both of their eyes as they gingerly disentangle themselves from each other, gazes stretched between them and hanging heavily with the weight of everything they’ve been and everything they want to be.

Finally, Keith pulls enough of himself away to whisper out, “I’ll see you at breakfast, right?”

“Mmhmm, definitely,” Lance reassures him, eyes sparkling with the insinuation of _continuance—_that there’s already a set trajectory for this explosion of possibility.

“You wanna walk me to my room?” Keith asks, trying to prolong the goodbye but also he’d be lying if the thought of getting Lance safe in Keith’s room and indulging in a lingering good-night kiss wasn’t a burning urge in his bones.

Lance huffs out a laugh, as if he too can see the image of Keith pressing him up against his bedroom door and kissing the thought of sleep right out of his mouth that won’t stop playing in Keith’s head. “Honestly, Kogane, I don’t trust myself enough to walk you back; if I’m near you much longer, I don’t know if I can stop myself from begging you to stay with me.”

The confession is light and breezy but so heated—like a casual joke that’s been tossed from Lance’s lips after a shot of whiskey, too warm and feeling staticy against Keith’s skin—and it’s enough to steal the air of Keith’s lungs. It’s that easy honesty with how much Lance wants Keith, right now—needs him, to _some_ extent, to _enough_ of an extent that Keith’s heartbeat is felt in his throat. It tells him this is more than possibility—that this is real, this is _his_.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh man, is that the best you got, Kogane?” Lance laughs, beating Pidge to whatever barb was stuck to their tongue and poised for takeoff. 
> 
> The sound of playful laughter and the warm affection reflecting in Lance’s eyes is almost enough to make Keith feel completely overwhelmed. As it is, he feels so pleasantly full that even his reply is soft and pliable. 
> 
> “I guess I’m a little rusty,” Keith tells him and somehow the world, again, is just him-and-Lance. “Guess I just missed my old partner—we used to banter, you see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo one hell of a global crisis we're in amirite 
> 
> Anyway, I think we've all been hit hard by everything going on right now and it can be easy to feel overwhelmed by it all, and rightfully so; we're experiencing a mass traumatic and historic movement throughout the world and that comes at a price that's often taken from the side that shouldn't owe it. But I think that's why it's important to remember that we can separate the events going on around us into equally important and urgent situations right now. We can recognize the trauma and tragedy that's happening with this pandemic, while not letting the light of the BLM movements across the world burn out. But don't conflate them with the same heavy heart; while serious, the BLM movement is an ultimately good and needed thing and it can't stop now. 
> 
> But the mental and emotional toll it takes on everyone is very real, and so I hope with this update and I can bring some of you a bubble of peace for at least a moment. 
> 
> Thank you to  at-all-fandoms, percycness, and procrastinating-through-life for being so kind and offering to help beta for me! It's been a struggle to get this where I wanted it to be over these last few months since it's been hard in general. But through their help I decided to cut the chapter I was working on in parts and this is the first part to that. The next part is already 5k longer but I do think the story benefits from this pacing decision.
> 
> Also, surprise! This motherfucker actually has a plot, bet you didn't see that one coming. Buckle up boys, gals, and all enby pals, this story is just beginning now 😈

____________________

The next morning, everything feels like a dream. When Keith wakes up there’s a breath of tight anxiety trapped between two of his ribs, aching like uncertainty; memories of last night blur between the edges, but the lens of focus tightens around warm touches and even warmer words. Keith lifts one hand up, squinting upwards at the lines and scars that litter his skin. Last night, something precious was held in this hand. If he thinks hard enough, Keith swears he can feel the ghost of skin against his fingertips.

It’s so eerily similar to the way Keith would come out of abyss visions, his heart starts to pound violently enough it knocks that knot of anxiety from between his ribs and it crawls an itchy path up his throat. Pushing himself up quickly, he tries to reconcile what he _knows_ with his memories and—it _was_ real. Was it all real? It was, wasn’t it? It _had_ to be—

Keith stumbles after shooting off his mattress, pulling a shirt off the floor and tugging it over his head in his haste for the door. Keith nearly jogs out of his room and down the hall, fist already raised and ready to knock as soon as he’s within arm’s distance of Lance’s door. The rapping is a sharp noise that echoes against that itch, reverberating against it and spreading it down to his fingers, through his shoulders. Unable to wait for an answer to a second round of knocking, Keith takes off for the kitchen—his bare feet smack against the castle floors, the noise buffeting with the rush of blood in his ears. When the kitchen doors slide open, Keith skids to a halt in the doorway, breath caught in his chest and hair probably too wild to write off as bedhead. But then Keith sees Lance—lounged back in one of the dining room chairs with a sleepy smile on his face as Krolia tells him something, and Keith’s heart stutters in his chest.

“Keith, buddy, good morning!” Hunk beams from the head of the table, setting down an armful of dishes. Krolia catches an escaped piece of fruit before it tumbles off the edge of the table, stealing it for herself after a quick welcoming nod to Keith.

“Weird to see you up so late,” Pidge comments idly through a yawn, the sharp clicking on their laptop unyielding to Keith’s intrusion.

Keith is still staring at Lance, eyes wide and probably more than a little dumbstruck, when Lance’s attention pulls toward him. That sleepy smile stretches into something softer—such a gentle change, but it tugs Keith’s heart down to the bottom of his chest cavity only to bounce back up to his throat as he finally takes a step forward. That anxiety unfurls its grip on his throat, dispersing through his lungs on a sigh that’s way more tender than it has any right to be.

“Guess I just needed some more sleep,” Keith tells Pidge belatedly, completely distracted. That smile on Lance’s lips finally assures Keith last night _was—_in fact—real. The happiness that bubbles in his chest propels him forward, each barefooted step making him feel so invincible that when he reaches the table—he boldly places one hand on the back of Lance’s neck and presses his lips to the curl of hair at Lance’s temple. He takes a steadying breath in and that clean scent fills his lungs; his eyes fall shut for a brief second as he whispers a quiet, “Good morning.” It’s them—only them, right here, in this little flicker of time.

“It is now,” Lance laughs softly but when Keith pulls away from their pocket of space, he sees a pretty flush spreading across Lance’s cheeks. Lance stares at him wildly—eyes wide and curious, flickering all around Keith’s face—as Keith takes a seat beside him, his posture open and relaxed and pointed completely toward Lance.

Keith knows everyone else is staring at him expectantly; knows that an explanation would probably be due, but he honestly doesn’t care. The reality is that Lance has agreed to give him a chance and he’s unwilling to let anything like embarrassment hold him back. He wasn’t open with his affection toward Lance last time, and he’s not going to make that mistake again. If Lance is willing to be his, then Keith is _proud_.

“What were you talking about?” Keith finally turns away from Lance’s stare to look at his mom. There’s a quiet amusement lighting up Krolia’s eyes. Keith doesn’t give her the satisfaction of it making him look abashed.

“Nothing much, your mom was just telling us some stories,” Lance answers for Krolia.

“Oh really?” Keith tears his eyes from whatever point his mom was trying to prove with her eyebrows—automatically turning to Lance, feeling pulled toward his orbit by only a few words. He can’t even help the way his gaze softens at the little smile that Lance shares with his mom. “She was just offering up some innocent information, huh?”

“Yep,” Lance says, popping the _p _with a grin widening that smile. Keith moves a little closer, stretching his arm across the back of Lance’s chair. His heart skips a beat when Lance leans toward him, his shoulder pressing into the crook of Keith’s arm.

“Turns out you were always such a little shit, Keith—even when you were a baby,” Pidge says airily, finally turning from their computer to rest their chin on their palm where their arm is propped up on the table. There’s a shit-eating grin plastered on their face.

“Guess it takes one to know one, Pidge,” Keith throws back with no bite and that grin widens into something downright _maliciously_ gleeful.

“Oh man, is that the best you got, Kogane?” Lance laughs, beating Pidge to whatever barb was stuck to their tongue and poised for takeoff.

The sound of playful laughter and the warm affection reflecting in Lance’s eyes is almost enough to make Keith feel completely overwhelmed. As it is, he feels so pleasantly full that even his reply is soft and pliable.

“I guess I’m a little rusty,” Keith tells him and somehow the world, again, is just him-and-Lance. Keith doesn’t understand this magnetic pull from the cosmos Lance seems to create for just the two of them, but he’s beyond questioning it. It might just be riding the high of getting that second chance—or of the way Lance still looks a little sleep-mussed, and how Keith _gets to see him that way_ again, but Keith gratefully accepts every second of being stolen away by this new gravity.

“Yeah? Are you saying your lovely mother wasn’t good enough to banter with in the abyss?” Keith wants to kiss that dumb smirk right off Lance’s lips. Wants to create a speckled galaxy in the breath between their lips—wants to collapse that space and leave it aching to be filled again and again.

“Yes, Keith, what am I? Liver that happens to be chopped?” The look of absolute delight that lights up Lance’s face at Krolia’s attempt at playing off him turns this already mesmerizing exchange into something that floats around in Keith’s chest and causes him to feel off-kilter. It’s so much, all at once—Lance, and this shiny and new, them-and-only-them thing sparking between them—Lance, looking soft after an overt touch—_Lance_, laughing genuinely with Keith’s _mom _and looking so goddamn pleased that Keith’s head spins at the devastating grin on Lance’s lips.

“Guess I just missed my old partner—we used to banter, you see.” The only way Keith anchors himself down from floating away is by fixating his gaze on Lance’s wide eyes; they sparkle with amusement, lighting up with the opportunity to take a guided grasp backwards into their _before_—a handful of time reimagined and offered up with a playback feature. His expression is open and honest and everything Keith never thought he’d be comfortable being in front of so many other people but it’s _Lance_—he’s been there for Keith over and over and graced him with so many second chances that there isn’t a thing that Keith would be uncomfortable with so long as Lance was by his side.

“Mmm,” Lance hummed, laughter dancing at the edge of his lips while he leans into Keith’s space. Instantly, Keith’s atmosphere crackles with awareness—it’s as if his consciousness was preparing for a visit from an old god, buzzing to life with the need to accept whatever benefaction might be dropped from the pulpit. “This partner does sound miss-able. Seems like the solution is to just never need to miss him again, huh?”

The words stay afloat with humor, drift through the air and above the gagging noises Pidge makes from the end of the table. The world condenses between him and Lance, and all the nerves that flicker under his skin at the thought of being so raw in front of other people start to slowly die out as the comfortable weight of their gravity settles around Keith’s shoulders. “That’s the plan,” he says, too softly.

The honesty in his voice seems to be too much of a blow to the little game that stretches between them; Lance's face ignites with a blush that crawls up his neck and Keith wants to grin at the sudden implosion of confidence. If Lance were capable of coherent thought, Keith thinks he might have to concede Keith won this round—if flirting was something to win, of course.

“Anyway, any chance that partner is up for dinner tomorrow? With me? ” Keith clears his throat, purposefully ignoring everyone else in the room as everything stills. Keith’s eyes latch onto Lance’s like they’re a lifeline in this awkward sea Keith is attempting to wade through, because he knows the potential shores on the other side are going to be _so_ worth it.

Hunk laughs, breaking the silence. “Oh man, this is so cute,” he cooes, and Keith has to fight his own blush from taking over his face. Lance seems incapable of contending with his own—Keith feels like he’s staring at the sun with how bright Lance’s face seems to light up; he starts to worry idly that Lance isn’t breathing.

“Lance?” Keith tries, touching Lance’s arm with hesitant fingers. Maybe it’s too much all at once?

That touch seems to restart Lance’s brain, though, and he jumps at the press of fingertips to his skin. “Yes!” Lance agrees, too loudly, and winces. “I mean, sure, yeah, that sounds great.”

“Great,” Keith mirrors him, a slow grin pulling at the edges of his mouth. Lance’s lips curve upward as well, just shy of a smile. It’s gentle, perfect, and—

“This is really adorable and all,” Pidge drawls, “but do you even know how to cook, Keith? Not like you can just order take-out.” The observation is offered only with a snort at Pidge’s own joke and Keith glares.

“Oh no, Keith is absolutely terrible at cooking,” Krolia offers casually with a wan smile.

“Mom!” Keith shoots her a betrayed look but there’s too much mirth in her eyes for him to really be upset.

“Well, that’s not a problem. We have all day, right? And you’re a quick learner.” Hunk gives Keith an encouraging smile that has him believing it really would be that simple.

Maybe it would be, who knows? Keith is trying to be a more optimistic person, anyway. Plus, any chance to keep that smile on Lance’s face? Yeah—Keith is definitely going to take it.

____________________

“Is it supposed to be… that _shade _of green?” Romelle asks carefully—too carefully, and Keith doesn’t trust the innocent look she’s trying to blink his way from across the kitchen. Neither does he trust the laugh Allura tries to hide behind a cough. Keith is no longer glad she and Allura decided to take a brunch break from the… discussions or whatever they were doing with Lotor all night. They both could go overwork themselves for all Keith cared.

With narrowed eyes, Keith shoots back, “You know _damn well_ it—”

“Now Keith,” Allura clears her throat, mirth still dancing in her eyes and _taunting _him, “there’s no reason to get nasty.”

“Not as nasty as that smells,” Romelle comments calmly and Keith wants to throw his spoon at her head. Another cough and he whips his neck around to glare at Allura, but this time the sound came from his own _mother_.

Krolia just shrugs at his look with too wide of eyes before resuming her act of _totally_ not watching Keith’s ongoing torment.

“Oh, that was cold, Keith, buddy,” Hunk laughs from where he’s propped against the counter. “I didn’t think your mom would turn on you so quickly. It’s only been what, a few hours?”

“Krolia is a woman of refined taste, Hunk. She can’t help but know who’s right,” Romelle adds matter-of-factly, a grin barely hidden off the corner of her solemn look.

Keith counts to ten and asks for patience from anyone listening. If he’s suffered this conversation for this long already, however, he’s starting to have some serious doubts if anyone has an ear tuned into him at all.

Keith changes tactics, since he doubts he’ll be able to scrounge even an ounce of pity from Hunk in this situation with how much mirth is rounding out his expression at all the teasing. “You know, Hunk, I thought you’d be more helpful considering your _best friend _is the one who is supposed to eat this. Tomorrow. On his first date in _how_ long?” Keith sighs as dramatically as he can muster and winces internally at what he’s been reduced to. Lance would probably be proud of the performance, unfortunately. “I sure hope Lance isn’t _too_ disappointed—”

“Ugh, fine, move over. That’s _so_ not fair, man,” Hunk grumbles. “And for the record, Keith—leave the dramatics for your boyfriend, okay? They don’t suit you, bud.” Even as their little audience laughs at Keith’s expense, he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed; not when he’s too busy burning with the casualty with which Hunk called Lance his _boyfriend_. It’s like his world stops—frozen in his new reality where this is the _truth _that people _know_—and then the axis tilts and everything comes tumbling down his ribs and his chest feels so, so full. Full of every good feeling that Keith never thought would belong to him; not when—growing up—good feelings belonged to _family_ and his family had been so long gone even the nightmares had dried up.

But now, Keith’s mom is sitting not ten feet away laughing at his attempt to make dinner for his _boyfriend_ and he’s surrounded by—by teammates, by friends, by people who care he’s _alive_ and here and sharing this moment with them. By people who _he_ cares about; it had been almost surprising how _not surprised_ Keith had been when Allura and Romelle had dragged themselves into the kitchen, mentally exhausted and seeking food and friends, and he had actually been _happy_. He _cares_ that they look a lot lighter, now, after basking in the warmth in the room and it makes him feel more buoyant as well—floating with the moment, not even stretching his toes toward solid ground.

Keith hadn’t ever thought anyone could fill the shapes that never formed in his family tree, thinking too much of bloodlines and too little of anyone who tried to tie themselves to his branches, not that he had very many offers. Yet here are these people who melt into Keith’s life and fill in all the cracks, making everything just a little more solid. It’s enough of a disparity between an old reality and this—this once-unattainable _dream_ that the air leaves Keith in a deep breath and is replaced with the intrinsic knowledge that he is wanted. That he belongs.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his reverie. Scrabbling to grab the bowl that nearly jumped out of his hand, Keith huffs and looks up into the questioning eyes of Krolia.

“Are you okay, Keith?” There’s warmth in her voice and Keith clears his throat, feeling his cheeks heat with the concern. He realizes Allura and Romelle are watching him now too, levity still light in their posture and faces but worry tinging the edges of their expressions. Even Hunk has stopped trying to rescue Keith’s pitiful excuse of a dinner to be a half-step closer and an aborted gesture of comfort hanging with his hand in the air.

Moisture clogs Keith’s throat and he has to swallow it down. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, I just…” He realizes there’s really nothing that would make sense to them. There’s no way they could understand the tunnel his mind just wandered down, not with the laughter still lingering in the air around them. Krolia’s eyes shine with the beginning of understanding though as Keith struggles to find the words.

“I’m just happy,” Keith finishes lamely, all pretense for secrecy of intimacy gone from the moment as Krolia’s face melts into something soft and motherly; the others murmur utterances that would normally embarrass Keith but this is his family—his big, weird family and the realization is enough to burn away any chagrin that could possibly taint the moment.

The others also let out various patronizing coos of adoration and Keith’s cheeks burn not with embarrassment but a rather staggering amount of affection for these annoying people. While he’s cocooned in a tangle of arms and laughter, a buzz from Keith’s pocket pulls him out of the reverie slowly as he fumbles for his handheld while struggling to extract himself from the love fest. He manages to shoot an arm out—free and triumphant—and unlocks it to find a message.

**Lance, _13:23 _**

_Ugggggh this is so stupid i wanna hang out with you_

His eyes flick over the message quickly while shimmying out of Romelle’s last vestiges of a hug, a slow smile curving on his face as that affection swells into something unbelievably warm in his chest as his attention shifts from the group to Lance.

**Keith_, 13:25 _**

_You’re literally the one who decided to leave so you could “preserve the magic” and “pretend Hunk didn’t just cook the food himself.”_

_So._

_Don’t really have much sympathy from me. _

“Ew, what’s with that look on your face?” Pidge makes a fake gagging noise, pointing one finger down their throat. “You and Lance are going to be ridiculous about this, aren’t you?” Keith shoots her a finger absently before shoving his handheld back into his pocket and tries to remember what Hunk was teaching him before his mind had wandered off.

“I think it’s cute,” Allura comments calmly, her eyes sparkling with some kind of light that reflects something just shy of a tentative new beginning. Keith meets her steady gaze and feels the foundation between them begin to feel a little sturdier, and he’s grateful for it. “It’s good to rejoice in the connections of others, especially when they’re honest and true.” There’s the smallest shift in Allura’s expression—it’s tiny, but Keith sees something buried in Allura’s steely eyes that she seems to be holding back so tightly; Keith can only see the sharp edges of it poking through. Keith shuffles the utensils in his hands, trying to think of something to bounce back at the banter being flung between them, but he’s too weighed down by those shards buried in Allura’s words and eyes.

Lance would probably know how to excavate those shards, Keith thinks. He’d know how to weave himself into such a delicate situation—how to leave things stitched up in his wake—and he would do it with an infectious smile, too. Keith thinks he would like to learn how to tailor his interactions like that; how to create gentle embroidery out of his relationships instead of the messy sutures he’s trying to fasten tighter now that they have burst at the seams too many times.

The thoughts are enough to lighten Keith’s footing again; he still makes a mental note to try to figure out something nice to say to Allura about whatever is bothering her—right after he figures out _what’s_ bothering her. Still, though, it warms him up thinking that he could reach out to Lance with a dumb question about dumb social interactions and—well.

Lance wouldn’t think it’s dumb. And that’s really enough for Keith.

A buzzing distracts him from whatever cutting technique Hunk has moved on trying to show him and Keith fumbles for his handheld.

**Lance_, 13:28 _**

_Mean :(_

_Are u just grumpy bc u haven’t seen my shining face in like four hours? ;)_

Keith’s heart pounds in his chest.

**Keith, _13:29 _**

_Probably, yeah._

The wait for a reply feels longer than the stretch of time within the abyss. Keith still feels a little raw when he tries to open himself up enough to let Lance make a space for himself in his rib cage; the chains around his heart rattle with every breath but he manages to shove aside the lock long enough to let Lance sneak in—because Keith _knows_ that Lance is reverent with the space he’s given. He is willing to take Keith’s extended hand and give him a chance at redemption.

That, Keith thinks, is worth some honesty even if it still causes an uncomfortable itch under Keith’s skin. He would strip himself raw—down to the bone and marrow—and lay each piece before Lance like an offering at the altar of grace and forgiveness if it earned Lance’s trust back.

**Lance, _13:33_**

_Keith!!! You can’t just SAY shit like that dude, my heart_

**Keith, _13:34_**

_It’s the truth._

_But I get it._

_You know, the whole keeping our distance thing._

**Lance, _13:36_**

_You do?_

Keith does; it has to be hard for Lance right now—Keith knows he wasn’t an angel in their... whatever it was they had. It’ll be hard for Lance to reconcile what Keith wants now with how he would act then, Keith is sure.

**Keith, _13:39_**

_I know it’ll be hard for you to trust me again._

_And it’s probably overwhelming. _

**Lance, _13:40_**

_Well you’re half right there, buddy._

Keith barely has time to start typing out a confused response before a flurry of messages blitz his handheld, his hand gripping the screen too tight while his eyes scan over the replies. He feels too exposed while laughter picks back up around him, surrounded by conversation and eyes that could touch words meant only for him with the wrong glance, but he can’t move.

**Lance, _13:43_**

_Really, I’m just trying to respect your wishes about uh_

_Keeping things less like_

_Physical_

_Afraid I won’t be able to if we spend too much time together right now _

_Because yes, you are overwhelming me, Kogane. _

Keith doesn’t think he has enough adrenaline in his body to give him the courage to answer Lance; the admission boils under Keith’s skin, turning his bones to nothing more than neon heat—radiating out and burning his fingers where he has to forcibly loosen his hold on the small screen in his hand. The shameless glimpse into something as visceral as Lance’s candid desire for Keith has his mouth going dry. Stoking the flames doesn’t seem like an idea even Keith should chance, so with shaking fingers he types out the most honest reply he’s willing to share that won’t make refraining any harder than it already is.

**Keith, _13:49_**

_You overwhelm me too._

Keith leaves it at that and tucks his handheld back into his pocket, determined to learn how to cook this damn meal with a renewed vigor.

____________________

Allura had left them shortly after she and Romelle got out their last bit of ribbing, her eyes slowly starting to look tired again as she sighed and pushed up from the table, bidding them a good day as she returned to the… negotiations? Honestly, Keith is pretty sure after this long it’s probably considered more of a hostage situation, but he’s not sure who’s been captured by whom at this point. All he knows is he doesn’t envy Allura the responsibility of untangling this mess of lies and reality.

Romelle had followed after her, but ended up slipping back into the kitchen not much later looking a little too forced, but Keith didn’t know if it was something he should question. He’s still pretty new to learning when to act on emotional cues, really, and everyone else seemed to move on without much thought to it so Keith thought it was okay to forget too.

As the evening stretched from _man, it’s taking them a while _into _maybe we should go check on them_ territory, eventually the novel spectacle of watching Keith fail at something wore off and everyone began getting restless at not knowing what’s going on with Lotor. After Keith decides he’s probably absorbed all the advice from Hunk he can for the night, he and Krolia decide to wind down with a sparring match. Neither Hunk nor Pidge decide this will be prime enough entertainment thankfully—despite a muttered comment from Pidge about being “willing to pay to watch Keith get his ass whooped by his _mom”_—but Romelle follows after them absently.

Keith thinks she probably isn’t very comfortable in the castle ship. He doesn’t blame her; it’s hard to feel welcome in the massive ship if you don’t know how you fit in amongst all the other constantly moving components. It’s easy to feel lost in its cavernous halls, but Romelle seems a little less displaced when she’s grouped herself with them, so Keith doesn’t say anything about their tag-a-long. It’s not exactly an invitation, but Romelle seems to take it as one when she settles on the sidelines of the training room, watching with her head tilted on her knees as Keith and Krolia stretch on the mats.

The wolf has settled in behind Romelle, pretending to ignore the movements around it despite flicking ears giving away its attention. One of Romelle’s arms hangs crooked around her knees to rest wandering fingers at the wolf’s mane. It seems to gravitate toward Romelle when she seems too lost, Keith thinks; most of the time, Keith doesn’t feel abandoned by his space wolf so much as feeling jealous the animal seems to have better emotional instincts than Keith does at this point.

Keith has barely eased himself into a starting position after tearing his idle eyes away from Romelle and his wolf when the doors slide open and Allura comes through them like a storm crashing against an unexpecting ocean, leaving nothing but debris and chaos against the shores. His muscles automatically relax, turning to watch as Allura comes up short in the doorway—her eyes take in Keith and Krolia’s positions across from each other quickly, surprise sweeping her features.

“Oh, my apologies—I thought you all would still be cooking.” There’s something about the way Allura is holding herself that makes her look out of place; like the air around her is just _slightly _displaced, afraid to conform to her shape.

It’s Krolia who speaks first, her voice even and light. “Nonsense, no need for apologies. Would you care to join us, your Highness?”

“Oh,” Allura’s lips form a little _O _at the title, her surprise enough to jolt her back into place, “oh, no, please—Allura is just fine, Krolia.” Allura seems to restart, then, taking a step forward. “I think that would be nice, yes—if that’s alright?” Her question seems like an afterthought, directed toward Keith with just the slightest hesitancy.

“Of course it is,” Keith says automatically, because it _is_ okay. Keith wants to imprint that so deeply that maybe next time, it won’t even be a question to ask. He wants that effortless, familial bond between all of them; now that he has a taste, it’s like a craving—plus, a tiny part of him thinks that will help _prove_ he’s changed, too. “We’ll do a simulation instead,” he adds, taking in the nod from Krolia before fetching a few practice staff while Allura stretches out on the ground.

“Did you want to train with us, Romelle?” Allura asks tentatively, leaning into a thigh stretch. Romelle has been watching everything from over her bent knees—her head propped up lazily to one side—and she seems startled at being addressed.

“Oh, uh, no, I’m okay,” Romelle says quickly, waving off the invite. “I think I’ll just watch for now.”

“That is quite alright, don’t worry.” Allura’s smile is small but reassuring yet there’s still a reflection of guarded hesitancy there that has Keith watching quietly, waiting to give Allura a staff until she pushes herself up. Keith would have thought Allura would be excited to have another Altean around, but instead her expression seems too careful. Everything seemed fine earlier this morning; they seemed comfortable enough with each other then, so what could have changed?

Keith shakes off the absent curiosity, telling himself it’s not really any of his business. Still, he can’t help but keep part of his attention tuned into Allura even as the bots appear and the simulation begins. Something just seems _off_. This isn’t the way she was fighting yesterday; she had been all ferocity and fury then, moving the way a hurricane crashes against a shore. Now, though, there’s a distressed edge to her movements—they’re more reactionary, even if they’re still powerful.

_Chaotic_, Keith thinks, having to jump back from a bot that’s thrown off kilter from one of Allura’s brutal swings; Allura doesn’t even seem to notice she almost took Keith out with her strike as well. Keith exchanges a glance with Krolia, sweat dripping from his brow. He rubs at it roughly, taking a breath.

“You got this?” Keith grunts, catching Allura’s eye as she drops back into a defensive stance while the downed bot rights itself.

Allura stares at him blankly, shaking her head a little. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Keith doesn’t get time to answer before they’re being charged again and he’s having to block. Allura starts to move a little more efficiently after that—there’s less of a ragged edge to her movements. Whatever it was bothering her seems to get shaken off as the training goes on, until the three of them finally start moving more harmoniously.

Krolia seems satisfied enough from Allura apparently finding her rhythm but by the time they’re calling off the simulation, there’s still something in the back of Keith’s mind telling him not to let go so easily. He can’t tell if it’s a rational part of him watching to ensure their leader’s stability isn’t fracturing, or if it’s something a little more unfamiliar in him whispering to reach out and patch up when someone seems to be cracking. Keith mostly hopes it’s the former; he still isn’t too sure if comforting is in his genetics, but either way he knows he can’t let Allura leave without checking.

“I still want to spar,” Keith finally blurts when he realizes he hesitated too long and Krolia and Allura had already finished wiping down their staff.

Krolia turns a raised brow towards him, a question in her eyes. “I guess one match before bed is fine,” she concedes, already beginning to drop into a quick stretch. Allura barely paid his outburst any mind, quiet but very concentrated on conversing with Romelle off to the side.

“Uh,” Keith swallows, wincing, “I think—maybe a change in pace would help me? A change in—partner?” Krolia watches him unblinkingly for a moment and Keith wants to smack himself for how dumb he sounds. Why can’t he handle situations like this with more grace? Krolia seems to understand, though, and shrugs before turning to Allura and giving her a nod.

“I think my son means you,” Krolia says without any humor but Keith can just _tell _Krolia is enjoying his lack of decorum here, if only a little. Allura’s face has rounded out in surprise, despite the sharp awareness that squares the edges of her eyes.

“I suppose that… um, that wouldn’t be any harm.” Allura clears her throat and watches Keith a little closer than he likes.

“Well, you two don’t stay up too late; all decisions become more clear the less weary the mind.” The last part seems a little too pointed toward Allura but the lightness in Krolia’s tone has the words softening Allura’s features instead of angering her with the unsolicited advice. The change is miniscule, but Keith watches as there’s a brief flash of something almost… wistful cross Allura’s expression, but it’s gone quick enough Keith is left questioning if he was just imagining things.

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Krolia,” Allura replies softly, and there’s a genuine smile on her face as she bids Romelle a good night as well—so, Keith thinks, maybe he really _is_ off with his whole assumptions? Seriously, he doesn’t know how people just… _stay_ this invested in so many people’s lives constantly, _all the time_.

Having friends is emotionally exhausting, Keith is starting to realize, and he remembers exactly why he couldn’t handle friends growing up while he was still reeling from having to relearn how to exist in a world without the only anchor he ever had. He remembers how all his energy had to be siphoned into the will to fight—people, circumstance, the _world_, Keith would burn every ounce of his energy with anger and now he realizes there was never any room for any breath of fresh air amongst all the smoke in his body.

“ ‘Night, Mom,” Keith whispers into the brief embrace they share before Krolia leaves with Romelle in tow. Krolia presses her lips against the crown of his head for a moment after pulling away—so quick there’s barely time for the air to settle around the movement, to give it weight even after the touch is gone—and it’s not that it’s _completely_ abnormal for Krolia to show physical affection toward Keith, but the casualty of it still leaves Keith just blinking after her wake.

Most of their affection in the abyss had been forged from harsh nights filled with too many emotions to bear alone; each moment and touch felt special—partly from the novelty of it, as Keith never knew what it was like to felt safe in his mother’s embrace growing up, but also because each time there was such gravity to the moment around them. There was weight to the connection being formed with each admission and step toward balance between them, and so Keith felt that same heaviness get attached to the acts of affection as well.

It fills him in the same way that old smoke did, except instead of choking on it Keith feels briefly lifted to the clouds.

So experiencing it in a moment that Keith hadn’t felt any emotional gravitational pulls tipping him off to it actually being _A Moment_ throws him enough he’s struggling to shake it off and turn to face Allura; he’s stuck for a few too many heartbeats, Keith’s mind trying to switch up the wiring of his brain to accept it just as another thing he gets to have now.

“Your mother is a great woman,” Allura says calmly, close enough now Keith is embarrassed to admit he didn’t notice her coming toward him. Keith hides it well enough, he thinks, as he meets Allura’s eyes—without jumping—and just raises an eyebrow in question. “She has obviously seen… many things, in her time serving the Blade. She has had to make choices no mother should be faced with making,” Allura pauses, something fierce in her eyes, “and yet her fearlessness also translates to not being afraid to show her tenderness too.”

Keith’s gazes flits back to the door of the training room, almost expecting Krolia to still be standing there even when he watched her leave minutes ago with how tangible she feels in Allura’s observations from her. “I hadn’t really ever thought about it like that.” He’s thought—a lot, really—about the moments of affection given to him by his mother but had never considered it an act of courage before.

The smile at the edge of Allura’s lips is a quick, humorless thing. “I think it can be a very… Particular experience that many of us female-presenting people share the most often, so don’t feel bad about not thinking of it.”

“What do you mean?”

Allura sighs, taking a step back. One of her hands has lifted to wipe at the stray strands of sweaty hair that’s fallen out of her ponytail, and it seems to get stuck sifting through the hair at the back of her neck continuously instead.

“It was taught to me at a young age that—in some cultures—tenderness, kindness, and softness were not things respected in leaders.”

“Sexism is a universal thing?” Keith asks with a genuine and disgusted curiosity.

“It’s a little… deeper than that, I’ve usually found—but yes, I think the closest Earth equivalent would be ‘sexist’. Don’t get Coran started on the matter unless you’re ready to settle in; he’s what you would call a—a _‘feminist’_ and has many thoughts,” Allura laughs with a softness that doesn’t reach her edges.

There’s a quiet that starts comfortable but has awkwardness seep in the longer Keith realizes he’s pretty obviously made up the excuse to keep Allura back. He waits for her to call him on it, to make a pointed remark about his lack of subtlety, and then Keith definitely doesn’t know if he’ll be able to approach her about whatever’s bothering her.

Except—no barbs spring from a pointed comment, one meant to poke and prod Keith until he’s too bruised to speak what he means. Allura seems to drift back to the present with an absent smile, but Keith doesn’t think it’s because of _him _that she isn’t focused. There’s a moment when Keith realizes she’s _really_ not going to probe him into explaining why he couldn’t just ask her if something was wrong like a _normal_ person and then he’s feeling more confident in his next words.

“I—uh. I didn’t actually… want to spar again, you know.” Keith coughs into his fist, unable to meet Allura’s eyes.

There’s a gentle amusement in Allura’s voice that Keith has heard most often now only from Krolia’s voice. “I did gather that, yes.” Keith finally manages to look toward her when the same warmth he feels when Krolia teases him starts to seep into the air between them.

“I. You seemed—off. And I just… I wanted to let you know I’m here, if you—you know, wanted to talk.” The words feel physically ripped from Keith’s throat, leaving him feeling itchy and raw at the open admission that he had been _paying attention._ He didn’t realize investing in other people would feel like being flayed alive.

Allura’s gaze softens, though, and it helps ease some of the tension coiled in Keith’s shoulders. It only helps so much, however, when the moment stretches longer than Keith thinks it probably should. Allura looks soft but also like she’s _thinking_—tactical in her kindness and wondering how to best utilize it.

“Well,” Allura clears her throat finally, before she carefully smooths down the front of her shirt. Keith doesn’t know why, because the fabric of their training suits doesn’t wrinkle. “If we’re going to be talking instead, why don’t we let the training room rest for a bit, hm?”

The question holds more weight than the humor it floats on; it’s an invitation to exist together outside any pretenses about _why_. It’s Allura finally accepting him back into the family she cultivated out of the paladins, before she learned about Keith’s heritage.

It’s something Keith didn’t realize he had been trying to steal back for a while now, even before the abyss.

So Keith blinks out of his surprise at the offer and nods, motioning for Allura to lead the way. The lights are off and the door is sliding shut behind them before Keith realizes he doesn’t know what comes next. It’s like he has a check list of these social milestones in his head, but he doesn’t know what the next one is until it happens.

Keith is saved from having to ask by Allura stretching her arms above her head, a gently mischievous look in her eyes as she catches Keith’s gaze through her bent elbow. “I could really go for a snack,” she muses, dropping her arm and switching to the other. Before Keith even has a chance to agree, Allura is shaking her arms out and nudging him along down the hallway.

Keith spends too much time thinking about whether or not he _should_ say something on the short walk between rooms that they reach the kitchen before he has a solid decision either way.

Allura is silently but comfortably moving about the kitchen as Keith watches from where he’s leaned against the counter island. She finds some sliced fruits and arranges them haphazardly on a plate before setting it between them on the counter.

Keith takes a piece once Allura does, chewing it quietly while he thinks of something to say. “So did your mother teach you that lesson?” It doesn’t occur to him until after he’s said it that the subject had probably been dropped too long ago to just pick it right back up, but Allura doesn’t seem to mind the abrupt rewind.

“Inadvertently, yes.” At Keith’s confused furrowing of his eyebrows, Allura continues. “I learned it from watching her—she was a brilliant leader, but there was always someone who would underestimate her due to the kind heart she had. But my mother never let the criticism harden the love she had for people—all people.” Allura’s voice is as distant as her eyes as she quietly adds, “So it just… reminds me of my mother when I see Krolia so boldly wear her love for you as she does her strength.”

Keith listens carefully, eyes far away as he soaks in the words. “You do the same, you know,” he says cautiously after a few moments.

Allura smiles, a small thing that can’t stretch to her eyes. “While I do appreciate that, I’m afraid I let the perception of me challenge my decisions—my mother would never have been so clouded in her own judgement,” she murmurs, and there’s a misplaced shame there that Keith doesn’t know how to sweep away.

“Is this about Lotor?” Keith asks, trying to place the guilt he sees pooling in Allura’s eyes.

Allura sighs, breaking their gaze and instead focusing on picking a piece of fruit off the plate. “Yes, partially. I’ve been asking myself, I suppose, if I had made the decision to trust him too quickly... If I let something other than my dedication to the cause lead that decision.”

“What do you mean?” There’s a flash of recognition in Keith’s mind—the way Allura had so quickly defended Keith and Lance’s relationship before, and he thinks he might understand.

“It was… very tempting, getting the chance to make a connection to another Altean. Lotor represented something I thought I would never get the chance to do again, and I’m afraid I let that convince me he was safe to ally with.” Allura sighs, finally picking a piece of fruit and popping it in her mouth. “And now we must make the decision of what to do next, and I’m afraid I might make a decision too tied up with what my heart wants again.”

Keith chooses his next words carefully, chewing on them as slowly as the piece of fruit in his mouth. Everything going on with the… negotiations, or whatever, they’ve been having with Lotor have been generally kept behind closed doors. While the others have made a few comments here and there about the secrecy of it all, neither Keith nor Krolia were too bothered by it; now used to Kolivan’s way of unquestioning leadership in the Blade, Keith found it easier to accept some decisions are simpler to make with fewer opinions present.

That doesn’t mean Keith always follows those decisions after they get made public, but at least the waiting part doesn’t drive him too crazy now.

“Has he really proven he’s willing to cooperate under scrutiny?” Keith asks finally, unable to picture the arrogant general he remembers from before the abyss into an ally that would be willing to bend to their suspicions of him.

Allura nods, slowly looking back up to Keith. “Yes—that, at least, is something we’ve all been able to agree on. His memories can’t lie, and neither did he when I asked him to explain himself.”

“Has he been able to explain _Romelle’s_ memories then?” Keith asks, unable to hide his skepticism, but Allura doesn't seem annoyed at his apprehension. He remembers her own from the moment they woke from the mind meld.

“That is something we _can’t_ seem to agree on,” Allura huffs out a laugh with a roll of her shoulders, and the look she gives Keith tells him she’s trying to include him in on the joke; Keith’s lips quirk up in a smile. “Lotor told us after helping the Alteans build their colony, he left it be; his memories corroborated it, and I could _feel_ the guilt he’s holding onto for abandoning it. He seems to have truly felt if he left the colony on their own, they would be safer. The best theory we have is that Haggar or her druids found a way to track Lotor and followed him to the colony after he left it, but neither us nor Lotor have any idea what she’s been harvesting all that quintessence for.”

“At least we can assume it’s nothing good,” Keith says with a levity he doesn’t feel in his chest. Allura shakes her head in amused agreement.

“True.” She picks at another piece of fruit before adding, “Romelle wants us to travel to her colony—she says if her people hear the truth from Lotor, they’ll be able to help fight back against Haggar.” Her fingers pick apart the piece of fruit until Keith is pretty sure it’s impossible to actually eat. Keith remembers the way Romelle had seemed so hesitant around Allura earlier.

Keith thinks of the technology they’d briefly seen while at the colony, and he understands why Romelle would be tempted to free her people from their disillusions as soon as possible. He eyes the fruit mush. “But?”

Allura sighs, dropping the fruit back on the tray and wiping her fingers off on her training suit. “It’s logical. Coran agrees, and Shiro has brought up good points for and against it. I can tell Lotor wants a chance to protect the colony that still weighs on his conscience.”

“I have to agree that having access to more Altean technology would really assist in fighting back against what’s left of the Fire of Purification. The Blade already had its hands full with Sendak and them from before Krolia’s and my mission, and now we find out Haggar and her druids are behind all the pure quintessence harvesting?” Keith shrugs, unable to hide his support. “At this point, who wouldn’t want a technological step ahead? With Zarkon gone, it feels like the void he left is more dangerous than anything he did while alive; Lotor can only command an empire if that empire is willing to follow him, and that’s _if_ we’re agreeing to trust him again.”

“You’re right,” Allura breathes out, nodding emphatically; she rubs her palms against the thighs of her suit a few times though, like she needs to move the rest of her body with her head or like she’s trying to rub away something Keith can’t see. “That’s what Shiro said, too. It’s just…” Allura hesitates, so Keith waits. Her movements slow until her hands finally just hang limp at her sides, her fingers curled into fists. Eventually Allura looks up before admitting, “I feel like I want it too badly.”

Keith takes in the deep guilt pooling in Allura’s eyes, and Keith thinks of how his own stomach had swooped so low when he thought everything with Lance was just a dream; he thinks of the way his heart hammered out a panicked beat because he thought he let himself _want_ something a little too much again, only to have it stolen away.

“Sometimes,” Keith starts, the words feeling dry in his mouth, “there is no right decision in war. You can just make the best decision you can make at that time, and then make the _next_ decision when it comes. And sometimes…” Keith swallows, hoping to say what he means correctly. “Sometimes the _best_ decision is also the decision that is made from the heart.”

“But what if engaging the colony with this war is what finally _does_ wipe out my people?” Allura asks, the question barely a whisper between them. There’s something vulnerable but urgent in her eyes, like she’s being torn in two with the words.

“That’s _their_ choice to make, Allura. Let them make it before Haggar makes it for them—_she’s_ the one who’s already gotten them involved. You’d be giving them a chance to fight back.”

Allura keeps his calmly challenging gaze for several heartbeats before she closes her eyes on a nod. “I know I should.”

Keith senses her hesitancy and takes a leap. “It’s okay to be afraid of making the wrong decision; I think hesitancy really only shows that you _care_ about the outcome of the decision—that’s what matters.” Keith knocks his shoulder against hers as he shuffles a little closer. He doesn’t think he can raise a comforting hand the way Lance would, but Allura seems lifted by the proximity anyway. “And for what it’s worth—I don’t think you made a mistake trusting Lotor.”

Allura masks her curiosity well, but Keith is still able to read it in the tilt of her head so he continues. “He’s new to the alliance, but he is genuinely _here_ for it, it seems. He had a secret, yeah—and I know it’s a big one,” Keith amends before Allura can open her mouth to contest, “but I imagine that living as long as he has means you accumulate at least a few. People don’t make the best decisions, sometimes, but it’s what we do in the aftermath of them that matters, I think. And it seems he’s trying to clean up his—that’s gotta count for something.”

There’s a few silent moments when Keith thinks he’s majorly overstepped their boundaries but then Allura’s arms are being thrown around his neck in a tight embrace. Keith is frozen for a stuttered heartbeat and just as he’s tentatively wrapping his arms around her too, Allura is pulling back and viciously wiping at her eyes.

Keith stands there, blinking dumbly, wondering if he just hallucinated the entire exchange.

“Thank you, Keith,” Allura says finally, clearing her throat before giving him a small but genuine smile. “I suppose I should call a meeting in the morning, then” she muses but Keith is pretty sure it’s not meant for him to answer.

Keith shakes his head, “No need to thank me.”

Allura laughs, the sound bright and breezy. “No, there is—apparently all that time with your mother seems to really have softened you up, I believe.” Keith rolls his eyes at the bait, but something easy and familiar settles in his chest anyway. “More seriously, though, your words have truly helped me this evening. All day I’ve been plagued with what decision I should make, and I know it’s been torture for Romelle to wait; if I would have known I just needed to have a chat with our wayward Red paladin, I would have sought you out earlier.”

There’s something warm and full in the way Allura teases him, and Keith smiles. “I’m just glad to help—” Keith trails off as his pocket buzzes, and he reaches for it automatically. The mirth in Allura’s eyes expands as Keith’s cheeks heat with the realization Lance messaged him.

“Don’t let me stop you from answering that,” Allura says airly, “could be an emergency, right?” She says a little too innocently, unable to hold her grin at bay before pretending to be interested in the fruit tray again. Her mood seems considerably lightened—her shoulders sloped in relaxation now instead of bunched with tension, so Keith thinks he’s done a good enough job as a friend to earn checking his messages.

**Lance, _23:42_**

_Kosmo is missing you—he hasn’t left my side in over an hour_

“It’s cute that he doesn’t know how to tell you he’s missing you,” Allura sighs right next to his ear, something a little dreamy in her voice. Keith glares at her from where she’s moved to read over his shoulder.

“That’s considered rude on Earth, you know,” Keith mumbles but doesn’t try to knock her away. Her words vibrate into a small ball of excited anxiety in his chest, wondrous at the thought Lance is missing him right at this moment; he never thought he’d get the opportunity to be _giddy_ about meeting a boy growing up.

“Oh, my mistake,” Allura amends but doesn’t move, so Keith rolls his eyes—trying his hardest to pretend this new casualty of their friendship isn’t warming Keith’s cheeks—and types a quick reply.

**Keith, _23:44_**

_Kosmo?_

“That’s it?” There’s a scoff in Allura’s question and at this Keith finally does try to get the screen out of her sight but the efforts are futile.

“I didn’t ask for a running commentary while texting my boyfriend, you know,” is all Keith mumbles as he resigns himself with the thought, _I guess I technically did ask for _this_, though. _

**Lance, _ 23:45_**

_Ohh yeah I knew there was_ something I forgot to tell you

_Hunk and I named your dog today_

“What a fitting name,” Allura comments thoughtfully, and Keith feels he should probably keep whatever comments he might have to Lance practically adopting his space wolf to himself with the pressure of her eyes on his screen.

**Keith, _23:47_**

_He’s not my dog._

“You should let him know you miss him too,” Allura says idly, finally pulling away from Keith’s shoulder to lift herself onto the counter right beside him.

“Who says I do?” Keith asks, mainly to just be oppositional. He doesn’t like that Allura seems to eye him with a familiarity he’s not used to seeing reflected off so many people.

Allura surprisingly lets out a soft snort of laughter, completely ignoring the way Keith tries to put his bristles up at the casual intimacy when it starts to hit too close to actual familiarity. “You’re smarter than to think I can’t tell you’re missing him,” she chides, shaking her head as if admonishing Keith.

**Lance_, 23:48_**

_Well given your lack of objection I’m going to take that as a “ah yes, thank you for your brilliant naming abilities, lance.”_

“Here’s your chance—you should play along,” Allura tells him as if he doesn’t know how to talk to Lance—_his_ Lance. Except… Keith sighs, realizing he probably _should_ feed into this flirty game if he wants a chance at seeing Lance again tonight. Keith types a reply out before hesitating, casting a look to Allura who’s just raising her eyebrows in a way that suggests he should know what to do, but Keith _doesn’t_. He doesn’t know.

So he just does what he knows Lance does, and finally tacks on an endearment before hurriedly pressing send.

**Keith, _23:50_**

_Take it however you need to, babe._

Allura grins at him from her perch on the counter, popping a piece of fruit in her mouth to hide her smirk. “That ought to do it, I think,” she says conspiratorially and Keith finally thinks he knows the joke that dances with amusement in her eyes. He feels _included_—from the cultivation of something small all the way to this well worn laughter between them, Keith has earned this delicate intimacy blooming out of their friendship. His grin is one that matches hers.

The minutes tick by and Keith is glad Allura feels confident about his words because Keith has started to regret them ever since that first sixty seconds passed with no reply.

Finally, there’s a flurry of messages that burst through the silent communicator and Keith scrambles to read them, ignoring the way Allura snickers to his right.

**Lance, _23:55_**

_KEITH_

_KEITH KOGANE I TOLD YOU_

_YOU CANT _DO _THESE THINGS TO ME MAN_

“I told you,” Allura’s voice is smug but delighted but all of Keith’s attention has started to laser focus on the fact that Lance is reacting to _him_ this way. Lance is somewhere in this castle, red faced and speechless because of something Keith text him—and damn if Keith doesn’t wish he could see that in person.

**Keith, _23:56_**

_I’m not sure what you mean, Lance._

The press of the countertop behind him fades away as Keith takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting himself accept this can be his _normal_ now. He can have a friend sitting securely at his side, taking joy in Keith’s happiness with him—_and_ he can have the source of that happiness with as much ease as a simple message.

**Lance, _23:57_**

_I can _hear the smirk_, Kogane. _

There’s only a brief hesitation in Keith’s thumbs as he immediately goes to type a challenging reply he _knows_ Lance won’t be able to back away from, only a _second _where Keith thinks back to Allura’s words about _wanting something too much_ and he knows—Keith _knows _what she means because there’s always that miniscule fear that he’s being reckless with all this wanting; he’s letting the universe know what’s important to him, and he’s afraid of having it snatched away like the punchline of some cosmic stand-up routine.

But then Allura is laughing her encouragement to him with giddy excitement to match his own hidden away, and he finds the courage to press send.

**Keith, _23:58_**

_Prove it._

Allura lets out a hearty laugh when he finally shows her what he sends, feeling warm with how much affection wells in him—around him, for him and _from_ him—and he’s nearly overwhelmed by it all.

**Lance, _23:58_**

_Tell me where you are then, Space Cowboy. Kosmo is getting pretty desperate to see you, I think._

When Allura’s laughter finally recedes, it pitters off with a sigh as she hops off the counter. Keith takes the opportunity to reply as quickly as he can.

**Keith, _23:59_**

_Kitchen._

_And… _

Keith’s thumbs hover over the screen, wanting to say something else but he doesn’t know what will be the right thing in this little game Lance has created.

**Keith, _00:00 _**

_You should hurry then._

Keith shoves his communicator in his pocket before Allura can think to ask what his reply was.

“Well, I suppose I should make myself scarce,” Allura says, a teasing glint in her eyes as she begins to clean up the rest of the fruit and put away what she can salvage. Keith doesn’t know if the polite thing to do is pretend he’d rather her stay, but she doesn’t seem to mind that he just shrugs and helps her put away the leftovers.

“I’ve enjoyed…” _Getting to know you, actually _talking_ with someone—_really, there’s a lot Keith’s enjoyed about the way tonight turned out. “This,” he finally settles with, a small smile at the edge of his lips as Allura’s own spread wide.

“So have I,” she says and Keith doesn’t need to read into anything to know she’s being completely genuine. “And, Keith, I…” Allura pauses, considering him quietly for a heartbeat. “I really do appreciate your support. It’s good to have you back.”

Keith flushes, his ears nearly ringing at the rush of blood under his skin. It hits him that he really is home; he belongs with these people, _his_ people, and he’s going to do everything he can to ensure he never has to leave them again.

“It’s really good to be back,” Keith assures her, dropping a hand on her shoulder as he passes by her to put the tray in the dish bin. Her smile softens into a warm thing, curling the edges of her lips and crinkling her eyes. Allura’s hand comes up to pat his, nodding.

The moment starts to extend past its shelf life as Allura looks at him with something close to determination. “You know it ‘means something’ that you’re trying this hard to make amends with him, right?” She asks and Keith blinks at her, his brain halting to catch up to her meaning.

His eyes soften from surprise into appreciation. “Yeah,” Keith rasps, “I’m starting to get that, too.”

Allura holds his stare for a moment longer before nodding and clearing her throat, patting Keith’s hand twice before pulling away. “Well, good. Now, I should take your mother’s advice and get some rest so I’m not in the way of your little rendezvous.” Keith lets his hand fall to the side before returning to put the tray in the bin as Allura laughs to herself at her own joke.

Keith literally can’t focus on much else after the reminder that he’s about to see Lance again_—_casually, in the late night, just because they want to and they _can_—which is why he has absolutely no excuse for nearly jumping out of his skin when Lance does finally appear in the doorway to the kitchen; the long line of him leans against the jam before he even makes it all the way through, something a little too playful at the corner of his smile, but nothing about his appearance should have startled Keith so badly even if the sharp focus Lance’s eyes have on Keith is enough to make him feel _caught_.

“You know, if you wanted to see me _that_—” There’s a brief second that Keith catches as a quip at the edge of Lance’s tongue immediately crumbles the moment his gaze widens and his eyes dart toward Allura, who is just watching the moment of panic fleet across Lance’s face as he straightens up off the doorframe. Keith is finally able to shake off the urge to open his chest wide every time Lance comes too close and he laughs at the dumb way Lance’s face contorts in embarassment as Keith’s wolf—_Kosmo_, Keith tells himself—nudges him through the door.

“Oh, don’t mind me, Lance,” Allura says blithely, “go on—whatever you were going to say, I'm sure you can say it in front of both of us, right?” Keith shoots her a look that has her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh, uh,” Lance clears his throat, wincing through an attempt to shrug it off. “No, that’s fine—cool, I mean, yeah. Cool. I just. Forgot what I was gonna say, whaddaya know?” Lance shoots Keith a dirty look when that gets a laugh to burst from Keith’s lips and Keith tries desperately to turn it into a cough. “But you know, speaking of—both. Both of you guys, uh—you guys just hanging out, or…?”

For a brief moment Keith considers teasing Lance for the obvious fishing, but there’s the slightest flash of something a little too vulnerable at the edge of Lance’s questioning eyes. Keith reaches out a hand toward Lance’s uncertain form, a small but warm smile at the edge of his lips when Lance’s eyes meet his. There’s a briefly suspended beat before Lance is crossing the room between them, letting Keith’s hand pull him in close to his side. Kosmo trots after him happily, seemingly content to follow wherever Lance goes—Keith really can’t blame the canine for that.

“We were just talking about _you_ actually, Lance,” Allura says a little too airily, like she knows it’s going to make Lance heat up with curiosity. Keith glares at her over Lance’s head as Kosmo nudges against Keith’s other hand in greeting.

“Naturally, of course,” Lance quips, but Keith sees the question in the glance Lance sends him.

Keith’s thumb is already working a soothing circle into the back of Lance’s hand; it’s sometimes like his body doesn’t know how to instinctively express concern and comfort unless Lance is the one so silently begging for it. Keith is not a natural nurturer, but he _is_ a natural learner—and being a calming force in Lance’s life is something Keith has wished desperately to teach himself to be.

“We were _actually_ talking about how Allura was _just leaving_,” Keith says pointedly but it just bounces off Allura’s laughter and lands just shy of playful. Kosmo watches the exchange with a lolling tongue.

“That’s right,” she concedes, wiping her hands off on her thighs before bidding them good night. As she passes, she pats Lance on the arm gently. “It’s good to see you, Lance. Don’t stay up _too_ late.”

Lance’s face starts to heat up as Allura leaves, a knowing and amused look in her eyes as she nods to Keith in farewell. “Were you seriously talking about me?” He finally asks as the door slides shut behind Allura.

Keith wants to cradle the vulnerability that ripples under the question; he never wants Lance to feel uncertain about another word that comes out of Keith’s mouth, especially _about_ Lance. “Only a little. She… supports this.” Keith points between them with his free hand before dropping it back down on top of Kosmo’s head for absent strokes. “Supports _us_—and she wanted to make sure I knew that.”

The words and the fondness they’re wrapped in are enough to make the slope of Lance’s shoulders relax as he comes closer to Keith, pulling himself by their joined hands—which Keith wondrously realizes has become enough of a natural weight against Keith’s palm that Keith nearly forgot they were touching. It just feels _right_ to be connected, in any small way.

“How’s the stuff with Lotor going?” Lance asks, playing with the fingers intertwined with his.

Keith swallows, his entire focus shifting to the too-soft touches that electrify his skin. “She was stressed about some decision they have to make,” Keith tells him, trying not to say too much when Allura’s trust is something he’s too newly given and he doesn’t want to abuse it. “I think they’ll tell us more about it in the morning,” he speculates instead.

Lance hums his agreement, his thumb sweeping across Keith’s palm in an arc that leaves shivers going down Keith’s spine. “I’m excited about tomorrow,” Lance admits quietly, an uncharacteristically shy smile on his lips as he looks up at Keith.

“I am too,” Keith whispers, his fingers tangling with Lance’s in a grasp to pull him closer. Lance lets himself be pulled across the inches between them, his breath shaking against Keith’s skin as Lance tilts his head to meet Keith’s gaze.

“Can I—can _we_—” Lance starts to ask, his eyes flickering between Keith’s with hopeful hesitation.

“There are no rules to this, Lance,” Keith breathes out, and he almost laughs at the truth to it all—at the levity of it, compared to how Keith always felt so restrained by circumstance with Lance before. Keith lifts his hand between them, his fingers tracing the cut of Lance’s jaw. Lance’s eyes flutter shut on a deep, shaking breath. Keith leans down the fraction it takes for his lips to meet the skin above Lance’s eyebrow, murmuring gently, “This isn’t something we have to hide. Not even from ourselves.” Keith thinks he might be saying it as a reminder to himself as well, but breathes out the suspicion against Lance’s skin.

There’s a little wonder in Lance’s voice as he whispers back, “I know, I know—I just—” His lips tremble as he breathes and Keith can feel it against his neck from where he’s still pressed in close. “I’m not used to—” Lance cuts himself off, and Keith can’t tell if it’s from lack of articulation or the fact Keith’s lips have started to trace a path from Lance’s eyebrow—down his hairline—across his temple—making _reverent_ progress towards—

Lance gasps when their lips finally meet, but it sounds more like a whining inhale. Keith’s tongue is already tasting the fullness of Lance’s bottom lip before Lance can even catch his breath. The air in Keith’s own chest feels rough in his lungs as his tongue slides against Lance’s—the heat of Lance’s mouth has Keith groaning, bearing into the kiss a little more before suddenly Lance is leaning back, his hands twin points of backwards pressure on Keith’s shoulders.

“_Ahh_, god_damn_ you’re so tempting,” Lance says breathlessly, his eyes still caught completely on Keith’s lips. “We’re not very good at this whole holding back thing.” The observation doesn’t suggest he’s too upset by the matter though so Keith doesn’t bother to fight it.

“I suppose we aren’t,” Keith agrees, but his attention is still on the way Lance’s bottom lip shines from where Keith’s tongue had only a hint of how it tastes.

“I guess we really shouldn’t stay up late,” Lance says as if the idea doesn’t rebel against everything Keith’s body is begging for. Keith knows this is what he originally asked for, but _to be fair_ he didn’t realize how _hard_ it would be to be around Lance again.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be so hasty.” Keith’s voice is a rumble as he tilts his head in consideration. Lance laughs, a hearty chuckle from deep in his chest, and Keith wants to stay wrapped up in the sound.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Kogane.” The threat is accompanied with a mock scowl that is immediately lifted away as Keith swoops down to kiss the edges of it. Keith laughs as Lance lightly swats him away, finally mustering the willpower to fully step away from Lance before too many things lead to another.

“C’mon, Sharpshooter. We’ll walk you to your room.” Keith snaps and Kosmo trots over from where he had curled up once he realized neither of their hands were going to be giving him pets any time soon.

It’s a simple offer but Lance still beams at him in response, his eyes bright enough to warm Keith’s cheeks. “How chivalrous,” Lance teases, taking Keith’s proffered hand and bumping their hips together as he clasps their fingers.

“Only for you,” Keith tells him but it’s too weighed down by the truth for it to have the same levity as Lance’s humor. Lance’s cheeks burn a pretty red as he grins at Keith. “Thanks for bringing Kosmo back,” Keith says quietly, pulling at the strings of the facade Lance began with. “And for naming him, I guess.”

“Aww, you don’t need to thank me, dude,” Lance starts with a laugh while his other hand drops to his thigh to pat it, and immediately Kosmo is abandoning Keith’s side in favor of Lance. “Couldn’t blame him for missing you so much,” Lance tells him easily, but the glint in his eyes tells Keith he knows _exactly_ how much fire the words alight in Keith’s belly. Lance, thankfully, doesn’t seem to need the retort to be tossed back into his court; he starts pulling Keith by their intertwined fingers down the hallway, and Keith follows as helplessly as Kosmo had when they first walked through the kitchen doors.

The walk has never been a long one but Keith thinks that it’s still too unfairly short as they approach Lance’s door way too quickly. There’s a whine and poof of blue light as they pass Keith’s bedroom door, and then Kosmo is gone.

“Well that was rude,” Lance laughs, left blinking at the space the wolf left beside him.

“He just really likes to sleep,” Keith assures him with a fond smile; the wolf has already acclimated to sleeping in an actual bed and prefers to take up at least half of Keith’s at night. Keith guesses Kosmo got irritated they passed Keith’s door, but he’s tempted to find a treat to give the wolf for the extra alone time with Lance.

“See you at breakfast?” Keith asks as he leans against Lance’s door with a propped arm. Lance settles in against the metal below Keith’s hanging hand, and Keith tries not to think about the fact he could drop his fingers just a little lower into Lance’s hair like this.

Lance nods, his hands coming up to play with the hair at the back of Keith’s neck. Keith holds his breath while Lance looks up at him from under his lashes and Keith tries to stay as still as he can be in an effort to not lean forward and kiss Lance again. Lance watches him for a suspended moment—something searching but playful in his eyes as he meets Keith’s gaze head on—before he’s grinning and pulling back just a fraction.

“I could tell how hard that was for you,” Lance coos, but there’s a pleased flush across his cheeks. At Keith’s raised eyebrow, Lance’s smile turns to something a little softer but it still has it’s wicked edges. “I just wanted to see if we could resist _once_, you know?”

“Very funny,” Keith rolls his eyes but Lance indignantly insists on the legitimacy of his experiment.

“Plus,” Lance adds, “Don’t think I’ll ever turn down a reason to get close to you.” The admission is small and shy, but it’s something close to trust he’s showing Keith with this raw hope he’s giving Keith a glimpse of.

“Don’t need a reason,” Keith insists, leaning down and pressing his lips to Lance’s forehead. He takes in a steadying breath just as Lance takes in a soft inhale in surprise. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow, yeah?”

“Definitely,” Lance agrees, but his eyes look a little dazed as Keith pulls away and takes a step back. “Good night, Keith.” The words are barely a whisper but Keith hears them clearly in the space between them.

Taking another step back, Keith watches as Lance opens his door and watches Keith right back, a smile still on his face as he finally lets the door slide shut. Keith can’t help but stare at the closed door until there's another startling poof of light and Kosmo is nudging his hand again with a whine. Keith snaps out of it, patting the wolf on the snout before turning to go to his room.

Tomorrow is going to really _change_ a lot of things—Keith can feel it.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I do hope to have the next chapter out in the next couple of weeks; since I've separated the parts, I've had more freedom to expand the second part and explore some character dynamics that I'm really interested in. If you can't tell yet, there's a lot more being introduced to this story than just our two beautiful boys falling in love. Honestly it's been a vague plan since about chapter 6 of the last part, but now that I'm currently unemployed from COVID19 I have enough time to actually direct the story more seriously in the direction I've wanted. 
> 
> I'm really excited to explore the character relationship dynamics we don't get to see enough of in canon, and in turn I guess it turned into a Fix-It fic of sorts hah. So it holds hands with canon through the travel to the abyss, but as you can see we're going to start drifting from it. Suspend your disbelief enough with me here to see I have put a lot of thought into where I want to take this story and I hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed thinking about it! 
> 
> PS, feel free to tell me what your favorite underrated character dynamics are in the comments or on tumblr! As you can probably tell by now, mine is Keith and Allura! (Keith and Krolia is a no brainer though ;P )


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re… Not really talking about the stars anymore, huh?” Lance finally asks, his eyes carefully blank. Keith swallows and feels the crest of each syllable against his ankles. 
> 
> “Not really, no,” Keith admits, the swell of foam in his lungs suspended until Lance chooses the next move; everything feels weighed down by the waves between them, each beat of Keith’s heart pounding in his ears, as his focus singles in on the way a warmth begins to soften the edges of Lance’s eyes. 
> 
> “And you really believe all that?” 
> 
> Keith lets the pull of the tide nod his head forward once, twice. Lance’s gaze flits back and forth across Keith’s, the moment hanging between them. 
> 
> “Okay,” Lance breathes out. He leans back, his shoulders bunching up toward his ears as his chest deflates with the rush of air. “Okay, we can work with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I didn't drop off for eternity between updates, who would have guessed?? 
> 
> Once again, a *huge* thank you to  at-all-fandoms, percycness, and procrastinating-through-life who all have been a tremendous help getting this chapter ready to post so quickly. I appreciate it so much. 
> 
> So we're really tipping into some plot in this chapter, but I hope y'all find it interesting! I'd love to hear where y'all think I'm going with this now that you've gotten more plot... >:3 Haha if you have any guesses, I'm all ears!

* * *

The next morning, Keith is woken up by Hunk an hour before his alarm is due to go off. So far, Keith thinks the day could be starting off at least _marginally_ better, and he’s also rethinking his unwavering quest for deeper friendships between this wake up call and Allura’s attempt at bonding over Lance last night.

“Come on, dude,” Hunk whines while Keith blinks up at him from where he’s barely sitting up straight in bed. “Allura sent a mass message about some big announcement, so let’s get one last cooking lesson in and make a big breakfast for the meeting!”

Keith scratches the back of his head, his eyelids fighting against the heaviness still weighing them down. He doesn’t think his brain is capable of following that logic this early in the morning, but Hunk seems pretty insistent. “Sure, I guess,” Keith agrees, confusion and the last dredges of sleep making him more susceptible to the plea.

Keith looks down at Kosmo, who is curled possessively over Keith’s abandoned pillow, and realizes he’s not going to be joining them for a while before Keith pushes himself up off the bed. Kosmo immediately absorbs the vacated space.

Keith waves off Hunk’s grateful cries, realizing more as he wakes up that this _lesson_ seems to have less to do with teaching Keith and more because Hunk needs an extra pair of hands to get everything done he’s planning before the meeting that morning. Keith is only mildly surprised when he realizes that he really doesn’t mind the fact Hunk is reaching out specifically for his help.

Keith feels flushed with the open awareness that he’s _useful_ for something other than his sword and fists for his friends now—before, he thought the only worth he had to a team was whatever he could throw himself at physically, even if one day it left him nothing but a crumpled heap on the battlefield or incinerated jet going down in a blaze of glory.

Keith’s ability in combat isn’t why his friends reach out to him now, though; Allura let him see the soft fears she’s been struggling with and now Hunk is so easily asking for his help just _because_.

So Keith lets himself get ushered through getting dressed despite the fact he really _did_ stay up too late last night, even _without_ being woken up an hour earlier than planned—and, surprisingly, he finds there’s even a small smile that doesn’t leave his lips while he does.

“Alright, we have like two hours tops before they’re ready, I bet,” Hunk announces as they walk through the kitchen doors. Keith likes to watch the confident transformation Hunk makes every time he steps into a kitchen; it’s like all that anxiety that balls up inside Hunk completely unravels once an apron goes on. The way Hunk moves like a whirlwind getting all the ingredients and supplies he needs leaves Keith feeling lost in the wind of it all, so Keith instead steps away from the gusts to check his communicator.

Sure enough, there’s a short message from Allura sent way too early in the morning. Keith rolls his eyes; Allura’s excuse of needing to sleep last night was less of the truth and more like charitable meddling but he had at least hoped she would take her own advice and rest.

**Allura, _04:53_**

Good morning Paladins (and guests to the castle),

_After Coran, Lotor, and I convene this morning, please expect to gather and plan our next steps. We have a lot to discuss. _

_Allura_

It’s still a mystery to Keith why Allura still texts like every message is an announcement, but he doesn’t seem to mind it anymore; it had seemed stifling before, too reminiscent of the rigidity of the garrison, but now he imagines Allura worrying over how much to say before sending the short message with hesitant fingers. At least she seems to have made up her mind—Keith hopes that she lets herself make the decision that speaks to her heart, but he’s resolved the least they can do is make it easier for her to deliver the news to the team.

It’s only as Hunk is actually starting to pre-measure all the ingredients—he’d learned that Keith sees measurements more as _suggestions,_ so Keith lost his preparation privileges rather early in their apprenticeship of sorts—that Keith realizes there’s still something that doesn’t make sense even now that his brain is less foggy with sleep.

“Wait,” Keith asks, his eyebrows furrowing, “but how will they know to gather _here_?” Hunk blinks at him from where he finishes filling the last of the cups before laughing.

“Did you listen to anything I said this morning?” Hunk shakes his head, handing Keith a bowl and pushing him towards one set up station. “Mix these dry ingredients together before adding the wet—fold it in like we did yesterday okay?” Keith nods dumbly as he lets Hunk gently prod him into place. “Man, you’re just like Lance—like talking to a brick wall when you’re not fully awake.” The fondness in Hunk’s voice tells Keith it’s not a negative thing, so he just shrugs.

“At least I did agree to help,” Keith mutters, trying to focus on getting the wet ingredients incorporated correctly.

Hunk’s laugh is hearty as he slaps Keith on the back and moves to down to his own station on the counter. “That’s true,” Hunk says brightly. “Anyway, like I said before, I messaged Allura back privately and asked if she wanted to do it over breakfast and…”

Once Hunk starts repeating the information, he doesn’t stop; Keith can’t say he’s entirely listening—his concentration mostly funneled toward each duty Hunk gives him—but if Keith is honest with himself, he’s actually grateful for the distraction to make the early morning pass so easily.

Keith is able to piece out, from Hunk’s chatter while they work, that Hunk got some tip from the mice that Allura had been worried about the reaction to the meeting and how Hunk wanted to do something to make her feel better. Keith likes the way Hunk talks as if Keith would have _obviously_ picked up on Allura’s distress too, that Keith is included in this plan from the start. He isn’t an afterthought or a circumstantial contributor; there’s a certain kind of pride that fills Keith at the thought of being integral to something so commonplace. Keith may not have the same type of youthfully rebellious stories from the garrison as Lance and Hunk and even Pidge, but there’s a chance to make a simple narrative right _now _in front of him and Keith wants to grasp it.

It leaves Keith feeling almost raw by the time they finish putting the last dish together. Bright alien fruits, various nuts, jelly-like substances Hunk had painstakingly molded into tiny squares—there’s so much that surrounds them on the counters by the end that Keith is left blinking at Hunk while processing the sheer amount.

“Did we really make all of this?” Keith asks before wincing, realizing what a dumb question that is when _obviously_ they did, but Hunk just throws an arm around Keith’s shoulders with a jovial laugh.

“Heck yeah we did, buddy!” Hunk jostles Keith a little closer. “Be careful not to let Lance know what a good team we make, he might start to get jealous,” Hunk says with a wink and Keith’s face heats up at the thought of Lance feeling possessive enough to be _jealous_ of all things. “Come on, if you want to get these out there, I’ll start cleaning up.” Hunk finally steps away but not before giving Keith another firm pat on the shoulder and a gentle push towards grabbing a dish.

The quiet morning is a domestic dissonance from the nights Keith used to spend wearing his body out training; still, Keith can’t help but want to cradle the soft feelings of belonging that start to nestle in his ribs as he finishes relocating all the food from the kitchen to the dining room.

There’s a different ambiance that drapes a table decorated with colorful dishes when those dishes are placed by your own hands, Keith thinks. It’s a simple and warm feeling that settles in his chest as Keith realizes he helped give the team a good start to an uncertain morning and he thinks he now understands why Hunk was always close by with a snack so often after particularly rough missions; nourishment comes in many forms, and Keith tucks that lesson away a little closer to his heart.

“Oh man, what’s this?” Pidge’s voice cuts through the doorway that leads to the kitchen. Keith doesn’t bother to acknowledge them until he hears whatever quip he knows is coming. “Hunk!” They yell back into the kitchen, “I knew you were a genius but add _miracle worker_ to your resume if Keith seriously made all _this_,” they say in mock awe, mischievous glee in every poke and prod they give the different foods Keith just spread out.

“_Helped_ make,” Keith corrects, but he doesn’t think it helps his argument—he’s not even sure what his argument actually _is_ but he doesn’t let that stop him from swatting away Pidge’s wandering fingers. Keith’s eyes narrow. “Did you wash your hands yet?”

“Oh my _god,_ now you sound like my _mom_,” Pidge cackles, plopping in a chair across the table from where Keith stands next to the dishes they were touching and he very deliberately resists the urge to straighten them all up again.

“Caring about proper hygiene with communal food _doesn’t make me_—” Keith is cut off by a weirdly shaped nut bouncing off his chest. It makes a hearty _plop _onto the table before slowly rolling off the edge. Keith blinks and stares as Pidge leans back in their seat.

“Now you sound like _Lance_,” they say, popping a handful of nuts into their mouth around a grin.

Keith takes a deep breath and remembers all of the hard work he and Hunk put into this meal to remind himself why he shouldn’t toss anything back. “Shut up and eat your nuts,” Keith says instead, as calmly as he possibly can.

Pidge is launched into another fit of laughter, nearly choking on the mouthful they already had, and Keith grins. “Oh shut it,” Pidge mutters in between hacking coughs, pounding on their chest before gulping down the glass of juice Keith scoots across the table to them.

“I didn’t say anything,” Keith says truthfully, but his grin is enough to know he’s skirting it willfully. Pidge just flips him off casually as they slam the glass down on the table with an exaggerated sigh. Keith pushes the entire pitcher of freshly squeezed juice towards them across the table, and he actually manages to keep another grin off his face as he does so too.

The room finally settles in with a few lingering snickers coming from Keith and the sounds of Pidge’s laptop starting up as they purposely ignore Keith’s entire existence.

Keith is about to go see if Hunk needs any help cleaning up—only feeling slightly guilty for not offering sooner—but Pidge stops him by clearing their throat.

“So, when are we going to find our _Thing_?” Pidge asks nonchalantly, like Keith is supposed to understand what that means.

“Huh?” Keith’s eyebrows cinch deeply before one is arching in question. “Am I _supposed_ to know what that means?”

“Oh come on,” Pidge says, tossing one hand up in the air. “First, you obviously bonded with Lance or whatever and now your Thing is well—whatever you are,” Pidge says, shaking their head but quickly continuing, “And then you and Hunk start cooking together. So, what’s _our_ Thing gonna be, huh?”

Keith stares at them, truly baffled for one of the first times in his life. He’s fairly certain he’s able to approach most surprises with at least a modicum of aptitude, but the silent admission in Pidge’s question has Keith nearly gaping. It’s like Pidge is trying to pull back the film from the corner of their easy interactions, and Keith doesn’t know how to jump inside.

“We, uh,” Keith tries but there’s no answer in his mouth—nothing snarky or teasing or even sincere seems to be able to take form. Their friendship—even if Keith is tentative to fully use the word yet—is nice in a way that he finds hard to describe. Pidge isn’t the most emotionally available person on the castle ship—not that Keith is one to talk, but it’s exactly that similarity that keeps Keith at a comfortable distance. Pidge is like a feral echo of feelings and impulses that still throb through Keith’s veins. He’s always been able to understand the steadfast certainty Pidge carries with them, even if he’s never been able to talk to them about it.

It’s a familiarity that Keith feels deep in his bones, and Keith likes that he doesn’t have to question it—even if there’s a part of him that thinks there wouldn’t be enough substance behind it yet to provide any answers if he tried, anyway. But even if there’s not much holding them up, Keith still knows he can be his most tameless around Pidge, because they don’t abide by any abstract cages either; Pidge accepts people the way they _are_, and Keith likes that he hasn’t been asked to look further than that yet from them.

Pidge eyes him with a look that’s a little too knowing before they’re throwing their arms back in an exaggerated stretch. “Personally I vote to be the official go-to friend for various shenanigans, but I _guess_ it’s open for discussion.”

Keith huffs out a laugh that surprisingly doesn’t feel forced even if he still feels a little uncertain of his footing right now. “I think Lance might have an objection to that.”

“No way—he can’t have boyfriend _and_ shenanigan privileges, that’s bullshit,” Pidge whines, pointing a fork at Keith in accusation. Their eyebrows are lost in bangs and frames, but the intent behind their eyes is clear as they meet Keith’s blinking stare—there’s a passing second where Keith realizes that this is Pidge letting him just _be_.

Keith takes a breath; lets it go.

“Well why don’t you let me figure out what a boyfriend is even supposed to _do_ and then we can talk about our—our _thing_ or whatever,” Keith huffs out, finding when he just lets himself _feel_ without any measures to hide that he’s amused but mostly just annoyed. The truth in the words are a reminder that, as excited as he’s been for his date with Lance, Keith still really doesn’t know what boyfriends_ do_—what it means to go from partners to _partners_.

“You mean _Thing_,” Pidge corrects, but Keith is pretty sure they said the exact same thing so he just rolls his eyes. “And don’t be stupid—being _boyfriends,_” Pidge emphasizes with some sarcastic jazz hands, “—or whatever doesn’t mean shit, you know? It’s just how you two already are together, a label doesn’t make it any better or different. All that matters is how you treat each other,” Pidge finishes boredly, as if they didn’t just crack open the core of Keith’s insecurity as soon as it began to surge in his chest.

Keith is quiet while he tries to shove the pieces of that insecurity back inside him before Pidge can see how shaken he is by the revelation; he’ll figure out what to do with them later, but for now he doesn’t think he can let Pidge see him _that_ fractured. He doesn’t know if any of those pieces will be too heavy for them yet, and he doesn’t want to break the back of their friendship before he even understands where it was headed.

“Thanks,” Keith just says quietly instead, his mouth feeling oddly dry. Pidge gives him a glance up from their laptop—one that seems too sturdy in its brevity—but then the tension dissolves away. The moment is allowed to end, as quickly as it came, and Keith thinks: _this—this is what he likes about Pidge._ He doesn’t have to process anything they say in the moment; he’s allowed to store it and given time to take it out to examine later, and Keith knows if he needed he could ask for a follow up in a week and Pidge would pick it back up easily. Their friendship seems to exist in little pockets of moments, and Keith likes that he gets the freedom of getting to step outside of them any time he needs. They’re unrestrained by some notion that feelings change for someone once they’re no longer within your line of sight—that feelings disappear if the person does.

Keith doesn’t think any of the feelings for the people he lets in his life could possibly be dissolved by something as bodiless as separation. Most of the people Keith has cared about throughout his life have been taken from him one way or another, but his feelings stayed buried so deep in his chest that he’d _ache_ with them—so he doesn’t understand the concept that friendships could fade with just _time_.

As if summoned by his absent thoughts, the last remnants of Keith and Pidge’s conversation are scattered as Krolia crosses into the dining room with Romelle, the two talking casually but intently as they enter from the direction of the guest rooms. Keith watches as Romelle chatters excitedly with barely contained hand gestures while Krolia just nods with a quiet smile, one arm out to gently guide Romelle to a chair two down from Keith. Krolia is still nodding as she takes the seat between them.

“Morning, Mom,” Keith says with a huff of laughter, and he doesn’t think Romelle even notices when Krolia turns away to respond to Keith. She gives him a nod and the same quick smile she always does when Keith opts to call her some form of maternal endearment instead of just _Krolia_ before she’s returning her attention to whatever story Romelle is telling her.

Keith watches the way Krolia is so patient in her consideration; the way the lines of her body are completely relaxed as she listens, no part of her secretly wishing the story to reach its end. Her eyes track the wide and arcing arm movements as Keith assumes the story is reaching its climax, and Krolia even lets out a small gasp at a moment Romelle pauses for some sort of reaction.

Keith thinks this is the most animated he’s seen Romelle since they’ve met.

Krolia really is unafraid of her own kindness, Keith realizes as he watches Krolia begin to ask detailed, thoughtful questions to Romelle’s delight. Keith knows, rationally, his mother is one of the most skilled warriors he’s fought beside so far, but he’s having trouble reconciling that with the image of his mother here—_now—_nothing but modest interest while Romelle now fixates on the spread on the table. And maybe that’s part of Keith’s problem—_maybe_ he has to let go of whatever is tethering him to the idea that he needs to give up any part of his fighter’s life just to share his softest parts with Lance.

The certainty that Keith wants to be with Lance is so well-worn in his chest that it wasn’t a question when he arrived back home, but beyond that? Keith has been playing things by ear. He’s been running on adrenaline fueled words and actions, grasping desperately onto any momentum he can steal from Lance to launch them out of the pit Keith dug them into.

Now that they’ve settled into a tentative, hopeful understanding of one another’s intentions, there’s a struggle tangling Keith’s thoughts as he tries to readjust to fitting another person into his intentions. Keith has been used to thinking of short-term survival for so long, and now he’s striving so hard to build the blocks of a future with Lance while every step forward feels monumental in its longevity.

Keith is starting to realize though that their foundation doesn’t have to be as elaborate and elusive as he thought; between Pidge’s words echoing in his ears and watching the way Krolia so easily gives a quiet love to a girl displaced from her home, her _planet_—Keith thinks maybe he does have what it takes to make something sturdy and honest if he just _allows_ himself to.

“Oh, we already have a crowd!” Hunk says with hearty surprise when he comes through the entrance to the kitchen. He takes a seat next to Pidge as Romelle brightly greets him.

“Hunk! This is such an unexpected treat,” Romelle gushes, “You _gotta_ tell me what’s in this stuff, ohh—and _that_ stuff too—” Romelle’s hand flies all over the table, all that energetic enthusiasm of hers now turned to Hunk, who almost imperciperially cocks his head in confused consideration. Keith understands; Romelle had seemingly been reserving her personality, but she looks rooted confidently in place next to Krolia right now.

“Yeah, sure,” Hunk laughs, brushing off any confusion before Romelle could pick up on it. Keith notices Hunk smiles a little more normally then. “Of course! So _that_ one is—” He leans across the table a little to point out one of the dishes with new animation.

Romelle is getting more and more excited for all the food the longer Hunk goes on it seems, if the way she’s eyeing some of the more pastry-like confections is anything to go by. “I hope we can eat all of this before we have to go to that meeting,” Romelle comments with a dreamy voice as she bites into something flakey and filled with syrupy fruits if Keith is remembering correctly.

As if on cue, the intercom crackles to life and Romelle sighs forlornly into her pastry before dropping it on her plate.

“Good morning, all!” Coran’s bright voice is crisp as it echoes throughout each room of the castle ship. “Please make haste to gather in the dining room! Up, up, move with the spirit of a treflablimeengo!” Keith snickers at the way both Pidge and Hunk try to sound out whatever creature Coran has decided to use as an example this time, their lips struggling to form the sounds.

Romelle has just started to try and help Pidge and Hunk sound out the word when the noise of the doors sliding open has Keith’s breath catching in his chest, turning his head quickly—only to see Shiro walking in. Keith tries to tell himself he’s not disappointed to see his brother.

“What’s with the face?” Shiro says as soon as he’s making his way toward Keith and Krolia. Keith tries not to flush at being so apparently upset as he tries to duck under Shiro’s hand coming down to ruffle his hair.

“What? Nothing,” Keith says quickly, pulling out the other seat beside him to offer Shiro as a distraction. Shiro seems to take it before easily by-passing Keith’s defenses to quickly tousle Keith’s bedhead.

“This is just my face,” Keith says as incredulously as he can manage—his hands coming up to pat down his hair through a glare—when Shiro finally raises an amused eyebrow at him while he takes the proffered seat.

When Shiro doesn’t push Keith any further—instead opting to reach for a plate from the stack near the end of the table—Keith lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. On the exhale, he lets himself take stock of Shiro since the last time he physically saw him; Shiro had locked himself away with the others collaborating with Lotor, and if he was coming out for proper meals and sleep then Keith had yet to see proof.

And as Keith looks closer, he realizes Shiro just looks… Tired. There’s a weariness in the set of Shiro’s shoulders as he reaches for a bowl of dried fruits and nuts from various planets. Keith is at least satisfied enough with the fact Shiro is dressed comfortably in a plain shirt and soft looking pants. One of the things Keith worried about when he left for the Blade was Shiro’s lack of attention to his own needs when things get worn thin around the team, and Keith wasn’t a stranger to having to tell Shiro to go change because it’d been 48 hours since a mission and he’d still be in some form of armor.

“I’m fine, Keith,” Shiro says lightly and without looking at Keith, focusing instead on pouring from a water pitcher that has too many sliced fruits in it. Keith thinks it makes it taste too confusing, but Hunk assured him it makes the water more _festive_ (though Keith still doesn’t understand _why_ water needs to be festive, but everyone else seemed pretty delighted by it so he just settled for juice).

Keith’s about to shoot back a question about the bags under Shiro’s eyes when the kitchen door slides open suddenly again and then Lance is hesitating in the doorway, awake but ruffled. He looks almost like he’s restlessly looking for something until his eyes lock with Keith’s. Keith wonders, briefly, if this is what it’s always going to be like when he sees Lance—if he’s always going to feel like all the air has rushed out of his lungs and something even lighter has filled up his body, setting him loose to float toward the potential of every moment.

And then Lance is grinning and taking strides toward where Keith is sitting beside Krolia at the table, so much open intention displayed on his face as he pauses in between where the two of them are seated. There’s a heated heartbeat when Keith honestly isn’t sure what Lance is going to do next—Lance’s lips are quirking up in a way that has Keith’s heart flipping, and Keith watches as he suddenly turns all that charm to Keith’s left instead.

“You know, Krolia, ma’am, I think the castle ship's air must suit you because your skin is just _glowing_ this morning,” Lance says with a wink that doesn’t seem to faze Keith’s mom.

“Good morning, Lance,” Krolia just says, the smile on her face something calm and patient. She’s probably seen enough of Lance through Keith’s memories to know this is just how he shows affection—and how he copes with nerves, and Keith can only imagine the anxious humor Krolia must be seeing reflected in Lance’s eyes right now.

The cheeky grin Lance gives her in return as he mirrors the sentiment is just as easy as the hand he drops on Keith’s shoulder as he does it—without even pausing his words, Lance’s fingers tighten across Keith’s shoulder and his thumb is an appreciative weight right at the base of Keith’s neck. The casual possession of the touch has Keith nearly foggy eyed as he stares up at Lance in greeting.

“You didn’t save me a seat,” Lance says teasingly as his attention finally turns to Keith, that thumb kneading with pleasant pressure against Keith’s neck. Keith’s mind suddenly realizes his mistake with Shiro to his right and Romelle chatting away now with Krolia again at Keith’s left.

Keith’s face begins to fall as heat rises through it, his tongue barely pushing out the words, “Sorry, I—” before Lance is squeezing that grip he has on Keith’s shoulder reassuringly.

“I’m just teasing, don’t worry about it,” Lance laughs, amusement and fondness filling up his eyes as he gives Keith a kiss to the crown of his head. “I’m just gonna sit by Shiro, because he’s the Brogane I’ve always liked best anyway,” Lance says airily as he pulls away. The press of his lips causes Keith’s brain to reboot too slowly to catch the jab until Lance is already seated next to Shiro and snickering at the face Keith shoots him in retaliation.

Keith doesn’t have time to reel over the soft touch and even softer understanding, though, because soon after Allura and Coran finally arrive, and Lotor is in tow behind them. If Keith doesn’t know any better, it looks as if Lotor is barely containing some complex annoyance—his shoulders look too tense, his eyebrows furrowed deeply as he keeps trying to catch Allura’s attention as she purposely strides into the room talking with Coran only.

It isn’t until they’re halfway to the table that Allura even realizes that there’s cheerful chatter weaved with silverware clinking throughout the room, and she stares at the table with her mouth slightly agape.

“Oh,” Allura says with surprise, her eyes widening as she takes in the impressive spread of foods across the table. “Oh my, Hunk, you’ve really outdone yourself.” Allura’s eyes shine in a dangerously wet way as the positive atmosphere sinks over her. “Thank you.”

“Yes, Number Two! Fantastical job you’ve done this morning! This is a bountified _feast_,” Coran exclaims, excitedly taking a seat nearest to the head of the table next to Hunk to begin filling a plate unashamedly.

Hunk is all humility as he adds, “Don’t just thank me, Keith helped me a ton! I couldn’t have done it without him.” The bright smile Hunk shoots Keith from across the table makes him feel too seen as everyone looks at him.

“I mean,” Keith clears his throat, “I didn’t help _that_ much.”

“Well,” Allura says with a small smile, “even if you only helped a little, still—thank you too, Keith.” She holds Keith’s eyes for just a moment before she’s moving to join Coran at the head of the table, and as soon as she moves Lotor is mirroring her—it’s obvious he’s heading straight for the open seat at the other side of the head, so Keith has to hold in a snort when Allura abruptly turns and sits next to Pidge instead.

Lotor seems thrown, but only stiffly continues to sit in his planned seat right next to Romelle after a second-too-long hesitation. Romelle appears to take it in stride, with a brief nod in greeting as Lotor siutates himself. Keith could _probably_ hear them if he tried to focus on separating their voices out from this distance—Krolia had been adamant on training his more Galran senses while in the abyss after she discovered the depth of Keith’s ineptitude for his heritage.

Instead, Keith lets them be and turns his attention across the table. Keith meets Allura’s eyes again only for her to shrug and look like she doesn’t know what his raised eyebrow is asking. Keith is shaking his head a little at the act before his eyes flit a little too far right and—and then Lance is there, in his periphery, so effortless in his warmth when Keith locks his eyes. Keith has to shove down those flames so easily ignited with the soft brush of awareness, forcing himself to turn his concentration to where Allura is calling for everyone’s attention.

“Alright, now that it seems everyone is here,” Allura starts with a shaky breath, “feel free to continue to settle and eat. I don’t want you to feel like this discussion is a negative thing.” The more she talks, the more her shoulders open up and ease into a soft slope. Keith tries to give her an encouraging look, but he’s not sure if he succeeds. “I wanted to gather you all here because I want to share a decision I’ve come to after much deliberation.” Allura’s voice is calm but firm now, and Keith admires the way she’s able to grow into her courage as she speaks.

“Whatever you decide, Princess, we know you’ve put a lot of thought into it,” Shiro assures her when she seems to pause for her wording. Allura gives him a small, grateful smile before she’s addressing the table again.

“First, you should know that Coran, Shiro, Lotor, Romelle and I have come to the most likely scenario to explain this obvious disparity between truths we’ve come witness to.” Allura seems to find a way to naturally look at each of them while she speaks, and Keith wishes he could have that kind of connection—that kind of easy effect on so many people.

“And for what it’s worth,” Romelle pipes up from next to Lotor, her hands fiddling on top of the table while she talks, “I know it’s hard to believe—trust me, it was _hard_ for me to let go of what I’ve seen at first, but I know I can’t let my own perception of truth ruin a chance to really make a difference here.”

There’s a solemn moment where Lotor’s eyes flit toward Romelle with a soft, interested surprise as everyone lets her words sink in. Allura quietly thanks her for the support, one hand crossed over her chest as she smiles at Romelle from across the table. Keith can’t really see Romelle’s face but the way Allura has a warm light about her now clues Keith in a little. Pidge’s hand even briefly makes an appearance gripping Allura’s shoulder in what looks like solidarity, and Allura’s fingertips tangle with theirs for a moment before Allura is addressing the table again.

“Lotor has admitted truthfully to creating the Altean colony shortly after his banishment, and I will be allowing him some time to speak at the end before questions, so I would advise against interruptions,” Allura says smoothly, her eyes hard as steel as they flit towards Lotor—who Keith now sees looks posed to interject with whatever justification he had ready. Keith pats down his bristles at the way the guy is so eager to ask for Allura’s forgiveness and yet he’s all ready to interrupt what is an important enough moment that even _Keith_ can recognize it.

Keith’s eyes wander in his distraction back toward Lance, who seems to be on the same guard as they watch Lotor shrink away from his interjection and sit straight back in his chair.

“It was an attempt at preserving part of his heritage, and he told of the ways he helped get their colony started toward rebuilding the home they lost—but then, Lotor _did_ leave them be. Through Romelle, we know someone who looked and acted like Lotor would show up periodically to supposedly harvest the quintessence of the Alteans.” Allura takes a deep breath and lets it go, her eyes closing and opening with it until she’s facing them all again. “The only person who could maintain a believable illusion of Lotor and has the means to track them is Haggar. We don’t know what she’s doing with all that quintessence, but we know it can’t be good.”

It’s nothing new to Keith now, but there’s still a moment that he lets the hush of understanding start to spread through the room.

“Whatever it is, Haggar is apparently willing to pay the price of hundreds of Altean lives, so we have to assume she’s willing to fight for it.” Romelle’s voice is ghosty quiet as she wakes the dead silence of the table.

“Unfortunately so,” Allura agrees, her eyes determined as she squares her shoulders. “And it’s a fight she’s already brought to the Altean colony, whether they realize it or not.” She meets Keith’s eyes in solid understanding for a brief moment before she continues. “That’s why I have decided we should make the trip to the planet of New Altea, and take the time to prepare them to _fight back_.” Allura pauses and something unreadable crosses her face before she’s continuing. “We’ve been working through the nights to find a way to make this work, so I implore you to listen before asking any questions.” Allura seems slightly surprised as she’s met only with reassuring stares.

“Coran and Lotor have managed to break down the time difference that seems to take place with the gravitational interference in the abyss, where New Altea is located. They have been able to calculate—very roughly—how much time we could safely spend groundside without sacrificing too much time in our current timeline.” Allura seems confident in her explanation, but Keith winces as he realizes Pidge and Hunk still don’t know about the existence of, well… time travel.

“Wait—” Pidge interrupts anway, one hand waving as they turn incredulously toward Allura. “Wait are you—are you telling me we’re going to experience a gravitational time lapse?” The way Pidge says each word tells Keith they hold more weight to the idea than Keith really ever has despite experiencing one.

Allura angles herself toward Pidge with a gentle encouragement. “We will, yes, but it won’t be anything too drastic. I would be asking you to take nearly one of your _years_—I believe Shiro said it would be—” Allura cuts herself off, looking to Shiro who nods with patient understanding.

“It would be roughly about 10 months for us on the planet—or, I guess _just_ nearly, technically—since the gravity is so dense around it in the abyss. But once we come back, it should have only been about two months total.” Shiro pauses and lets it sink in for the table. Keith doesn’t know why it’s such a huge consideration, but he does understand that some people find things more important than he does sometimes so he tries to respect the difference.

“Right,” Allura agrees with a nod in thanks toward Shiro. “It sounds like a lot, I know—but we would be uprooting their entire view of the universe and asking them to engage in an interplanetary war, and I don’t think we can expect them to do that overnight.” Allura sighs, but her shoulders remain straight and high. “There’s a reason that when Zarkon started this infernal war he destroyed Altea; he knew we—as a people—could defeat him. Haggar is no different from him,” Allura says confidently, meeting each of their eyes throughout her assurance. “And we can be prepared for whatever it is she’s planning if we let my people choose their right to _fight back._”

There’s a silence that follows that Keith thinks means Allura is finished. He looks around the room as everyone seems to process until Pidge finally just says, “Hell yeah? I mean, yeah, we should totally liberate them from Haggar’s control. That’s a no brainer, Princess.”

There’s a quiet moment where Allura just smiles at Pidge in return, before her eyes are scanning the rest of the table. “Come on, you can object,” she implores everyone.

“But why would we?” Hunk gently butts in, his question poised so carefully as to let Allura come to the realization herself; that she would know the team supports her decision, not just because it’s tactical or because of the empathy they have—but because they trust her, and will trust in _all_ of her.

“Alright,” Allura agrees softly, her eyes drifting from Hunk’s smile to the others. “Well then,” she begins again, “that means we should discuss how we’re going to _get_ there.”

“Well, if Keith and Krolia were able to do it, won’t it be easy with the castle ship?” Pidge asks bluntly, pushing their glasses up as they consider the situation.

“Actually, it’s quite the contrary,” Lotor finally interjects, looking eager to have a reason to answer something. “There are notorious creatures that live in spaces like the quantum abyss—for those able to survive the encounters, they know the bigger your ship, the bigger the target when you’re traveling through one.”

Hunk begins to look a little weary already, raising his hand timidly. “Okay, so, question—this just, you know, popped into my head but uh,” Hunk swallows, swinging one hand out in question, “how does a ship this freakin’ big ‘travel through’ without you know—being _destroyed _then?” He seems close to hyperventilation by the end of his question, but Coran is already leaning forward to pat Hunk solidly on the back to restart his breathing so Keith isn’t too worried about it.

Lotor seems to flounder at having to console Hunk after just seemingly giving out facts, and Keith wants to laugh at the way Lotor gapes but somehow manages to look like he’s holding back. Allura sighs and steps in.

“We would need to perform several warps within a short span of time as we would jump between safe spots,” Allura says with a gentle kindness toward Hunk.

“_Which_ I had mapped when I decided to place the colony there,” Lotor interjects but no one pays him much mind as Allura continues.

“And that would require such a high enough strain on our current scaultrite that I’m afraid it would crack and we would be stranded for quite a while, I would imagine,” Coran explains carefully as the paladins all listen intently. Hunk balks.

“Don’t tell me we have to travel to another Weblum—” Hunk looks like he might actually be sick.

Coran slaps Hunk on the shoulders again. “Don’t be silly, my boy!” Coran laughs, shaking his head. “Why would we get a back up when the _intention_ would be not to break anything in the first place, hmm?” Coran leans in close to Hunk’s ear, who looks like he’s starting to sweat with the close proximity.

“Okay,” Pidge lets out a frustrated sigh, “so how do we ‘_not let anything break_’ then?”

“Pull up a map,” Lotor asks from where he’s apparently been thinking very visibly, although somehow his requests always sound like demands in Keith’s opinion. Coran immediately fiddles with his wrist communicator though, so Keith thinks maybe he’s just overreacting. Coran brings up the proximal star system they’re in and Lotor shifts through local clusters with vocal disinterest until finally he lands on a bright point on the map. He expands the view until it’s two brilliant dots of light circling each other slowly throughout the entire dining room. Keith watches as tiny, incorporeal stars float through their breakfast. “There’s a neutron star binary nearby; they’re enroute for a collision in some odd hundred millennia from now, so we could use the gamma ray burst radiation emitted from their corrosion as that extra power we need to boost the scaultrite.”

Coran makes a considering sound, his fingers twisting his mustache, “I do believe that would let us reinforce our reflective technology enough that we should be able to make the trip through the abyss with minimal exposure to the time radiation and fewest warp points.”

“Wait, wait—hold up,” Hunk interjects, his hands waving objectively through the air. “For starters, if we can get energy from another source for the castle ship, why did you try to get us killed in the belly of the Weblum?” His finger finally lands with an accusatory point toward Coran, but he doesn’t lament for long. “And more importantly, are you talking about _converting GRBs into energy_—”

“Like _honest to god usable_ energy?” Pidge excitedly interrupts Hunk’s eager tirade.

Lotor’s face manages to look delighted in the most patronizing way Keith has ever seen. “Ah, yes, I forget that you two are the _engineers_ of this little group. Would you like me to go over the process with you after this briefing?” His question has a magnamious air that Keith wouldn’t be caught dead breathing in just yet, but both Hunk and Pidge excitedly agree and start shooting off their own theories about it in a quiet quickfire discussion. At least Lance seems to be as skeptical as Keith, his eyebrows rising up in a message Keith doesn’t know how to decode from out of the corner of Keith’s eye—but Keith gets the gist of it, he thinks.

Keith watches the tactical way Lotor tries to check if Allura approves of this gesture of goodwill toward her team—the way his eyes flash to hers, something deviously eager at the edge of his mouth before it falls in realization she’s not paying him much mind. Keith may be willing to accept Lotor as an ally still, but he isn’t convinced of Lotor’s suitability for any other role in their lives just yet.

“Both of you should work on your poker faces when he talks,” Shiro comments quietly and blandly, and Keith’s brain has to do a double take to realize he’s been caught eyeing Lotor with suspicion. His eyes flit to the side to see Lance sitting frozen in his seat too. Keith isn’t sure if Lance hears the admonishing advice or if there’s too much going on around them for it to reach him, but he can definitely see the playfully knowing smirk Shiro has cast toward them both.

Keith stabs his fork into the first thing it can reach, immediately dropping his eyes to his plate.

Allura finally clears her throat over the noise, turning her attention to Coran when it quiets down. “Well, if the means for power has been found, how long do you estimate we’ll need to be in proximity to store enough of that energy?”

Coran looks to Lotor, and they both seem to do some silent calculations before bouncing theories off each other. Keith risks glancing up again as he takes a drink and he meets Lance’s eyes—they’re both watching the verbal ping pong match over raised glasses. There’s a mirth in Lance’s eyes that dances off the rim of his cup, and Keith has trouble remembering how to swallow his juice correctly as he’s tugged into that atmosphere that’s insistently circling him. Shiro clears his throat pointedly right before Keith’s about to let his drink start to dribble.

Keith coughs and sets his cup down, determined not to notice the way his mother has now apparently joined in on Shiro’s amusement too with the way her eyes glint with silent laughter. Keith tries to force his attention back to Coran but the words that come out his mouth are too fast and Lotor is quick to respond each time, so no one even tries to interject.

“Each burst will be too short to harness enough energy at once—” Lotor theorizes, and Keith tries to watch him with a neutral face.

Coran replies even though Keith is fairly certain Lotor wasn’t asking a question. “Correct, my boy! So we’ll need to be in range for probably at _least—”_

“Three cycles, possibly four to be safe. The bursts are random but we _could_—”

“Oh, yes, yes! We could back-trace large energy outputs in this area and use the data to estimate how long there is in between bursts!” Coran finally finishes with an air that tells Keith they’ve solved something worth nodding and _ohhh_-ing over. Allura catches Keith’s eyes from across the table—where she’s been looking closer and closer to just covering her entire face with her hand the longer Coran and Lotor carried on—and Keith is quick to offer a sympathetic shrug as soon as their attentions meet.

The softly grateful smile she gives in return makes Keith very aware of how _present_ he is in this moment; Keith is grounded by so many of these little looks and connections from all around this table. He remembers many meals that he attended only out of convenience and courtesy, always feeling as if the seats separating him and his teammates might as well have been mile markers with how distant he felt from them.

This does not feel the same.

This feels like a foundation with the roots unquestioningly fastened into the ground at their feet. Keith sits with no doubt he could reach for any person at this table and find them reaching back—resident cooperative hostage notwithstanding. Without consciously realizing it, Keith had been building all these silent connections with the people he’d consider family and _he, too_ had built up that power of Allura’s to meet their eyes with at least a tentative understanding of where they stand together.

They feel like tethers that hold him gently into the moment, like they’re just asking him to just _be. _

With that realization, Keith finds it hard to focus on much else of the meeting while Coran and Lotor theorize with Hunk and Pidge, trying to calculate how long it will take to gather the needed amount of energy.

“You look happy,” Shiro says idly while everyone collectively seems to decide now would be a good time for a break from the heaviness. Keith nearly starts at the quiet observation.

“I—” Keith’s first instinct is to shrug any difference off as just adjusting, but when he stops to think about it he realizes something else. “I am happy, right now.” Keith amends but it’s with a small, taunting smile. Shiro steals one of the dense pastry bites from Keith’s plate in retaliation.

“Good! You should let yourself be, you know,” Shiro tells him casually but there’s weight to the words as he meets Keith’s stare out of the corner of his eye. “I’m glad it seems you’ve finally learned it’s okay to want something, it seems.” Shiro’s eyes hold Keith’s for a moment more before they’re flicking toward Lance instead as he leans back.

Lance is watching Keith with a redness in his cheeks that makes it obvious he’s been listening in on the other side of Shiro. Keith isn’t fazed by the reveal; instead, his smile warms as he takes in the way Lance looks so flustered _for him_.

“Yeah, something like that,” Keith rasps back to Shiro, but his eyes stay locked with Lance’s for too many moments longer.

Shiro shakes his head on a sigh. “Helpless,” Keith is pretty sure Shiro mutters.

“Alright, it seems it would take an estimated four to six vargas to convert the energy, and so by the time we arrive tonight we can station and let it absorb overnight while we rest.” Coran’s voice finally commands the room again and Keith’s attention is whipped across the table. “We could take it from there in the morning, if you would like my opinion,” he adds with a decisive nod.

Allura smiles with clear appreciation for Coran’s input. “Thank you, Coran. I think that’s a fine idea for now. It seems we’ll need to start making the travel to the binary system soon, so if that’s all—”

“Princess—I mean, Allura—” Lotor blurts, and Keith resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I would like some time to explain _why_ I did what I did—” Lotor starts with an imploring look around the table. Keith is fairly certain his look of abject disinterest is mirrored by at least most of the faces he must search.

“Ah, well, I’m sure you’ll get the chance to when we have a little bit more _time_,” Allura says with some sort of apology in the forced set of her shoulders, Keith thinks.

With that, Allura and Coran both excuse themselves from the table. Lotor doesn’t seem capable of remaining in his seat as he watches them leave, popping up with a flustered air as he chases after them as discreetly as he can manage.

Keith just watches him go with silent amusement.

“So, Keith,” Hunk says after they all begin to wind back into a regular breakfast mood. “Does—well, does all this mean you experienced the same thing when you found Romelle?” Hunk asks carefully, leaning back in his chair with his consideration while one hand comes up to rest on his stomach.

Keith blinks. “Yes,” he says simply, shrugging, “I already told Allura and Lance that I experienced two years or so on the duration of my mission.” Keith manages to get the last slice of a smoked beef-like meat that had been a popular dish, and is distracted getting it added to his plate to notice the silence from his other teammates.

“Oh, dude, that blows,” Pidge finally lets out with a deep breath, blowing out the air with a clear apologetic wince.

“Yeah, I guess, but I’m alright,” Keith says haltingly, not sure how to convince them without having to bare himself as openly as he did with Lance; Keith doesn’t think he can allow that many people so buried under his skin.

“I mean _sure_, but—” Hunk says softly, interjecting with clear placatism, “for argument's sake, if you _weren’t_ okay—that would totally be okay too, you know.” Hunk’s voice is soothing and Keith appreciates the assurance but can’t process it the way he knows he should.

“...Alright,” Keith finally says with a hesitant nod. Hunk, at least, seems satisfied for now at the acknowledgement.

“It’s hard enough to think of you being gone for what, five months,” Lance interjects, but his voice is a little too rough before he clears his throat. “Two years is just still so…” He trails off, his fist clenching on the table.

Keith wishes he was in Shiro’s seat so he could grab hold of that hand to loosen the fingers himself, but he settles for saying, “It is what it is, Lance.”

Lance shoots him a small smile, something barely seen at the edge of his quirked lips. “I know, Cowboy, settle down.” Keith’s cheeks heat at the blatant endearment, his eyes barely able to break away from their wide-eyed stare at Lance to see Shiro lean back with a sigh.

“You know, I hadn’t realized how much you were in my life, Keith, until it wasn’t _you_ suddenly,” Shiro said with a measured laugh, the lines around his eyes carefully crinkled. Keith’s eyes narrow; Keith remembers that face used on Adam whenever Shiro wanted him to accept something Shiro already decided. “When it was suddenly Lance there doing everything _you_ normally would—well, let’s just say I definitely felt I owed you both a thank you!” Shiro ends, as if the story doesn’t leave Keith with an arrow shot through the armor of his perception of Lance.

There’s a wild fondness caged in Keith’s chest for Lance, and it raves at the picture of Lance at Shiro’s side in Keith’s absence—making him eat, getting him to sleep. Keith wants to collapse with the relief of it. The affection growing in that cage keeps threatening to overflow, but Keith is beyond trying to lock it away.

“Hey, now, I’m not like—” Lance interrupts, his face red like he’s been insulted, “I’m not some lost puppy or something, I do have _other_ responsibilities, okay?”

“I don’t believe anyone would contest that, little blue one,” Krolia says soothingly and Keith realizes suddenly that it’s now just them in the dining room; Pidge and Romelle have left and Hunk has slowly started putting away leftovers as he gives the four of them an obvious girth. “Shiro is simply commenting on the gratefulness he holds for both your and Keith’s tendency to over-worry about his well-being! It is no shame.” Krolia finishes as if the accusation doesn’t lie buried in her explanation.

“Okay, well—” Lance sputters, standing up and putting some pastries from nearby onto his plate while telling them, “actually, like I was saying—I _do_ have other things I have to do, alright, so—” Lance backs up around his chair with his plate of leftovers in his hands. He holds it at his chest while he looks down at Keith, the pink flush of his flustered skin suddenly softening. “So, ah, Cowboy—what time should I meet you tonight? Or are you picking me up?”

Keith stares up as Lance pops the last _p _of the question, his awareness of Shiro between them nearly forgotten. “Ah, let’s say 7? Still have some food prep… and just here, but don’t worry—” Keith starts to assure Lance immediately when he sees the slight disappointment he sees in Lance’s eyes at the location.

Lance is quick to wave him off. “No, that sounds great, dude. I can’t wait,” Lance adds softly as he starts to actually back away. Keith smiles as he nods in silent agreement, watching him back until Lance finally disappears through the kitchen.

Keith is only just coming back to his full awareness when Shiro’s—thankfully human—hand his coming down hard in a consoling pat as Keith’s face heats up in embarrassment at being so _seen_.

But then Keith is torn from the awkward heat creeping up his cheeks as Krolia joins in Shiro’s attempt at sympathy.

“You have it bad, my son,” Krolia says heartily with a chuckle, one arm bent across the table so she can address them both with her head propped up. There’s an easy smile on her lips.

“That isn’t—you know I don’t think it’s anyone’s_ business_—” Keith starts but Shiro’s hand grips his shoulder again.

“Oh, lighten up Keith. It’s not an accusation, you know—it’s nice to see, is all she’s saying,” Shiro says with a knowing smirk toward Krolia that Keith doesn’t know if he likes. “Plus, if you two don’t make it less _obvious_ then so help me—” Shiro warns with a tired laugh and a sarcastic shake of his finger.

Keith just blinks. “Make what less obvious?” Keith asks, and tries to think of what his looks toward Lance could be giving away about what Keith _wants_.

There’s a quick silence as Keith realizes both his mother and Shiro are just staring at him and he feels like he’s missed the punchline to some joke and he doesn’t know how he feels about the only two parental figures Keith has left be in on it and him _not_ be.

But then Krolia begins to shake with bubbled laughter that has Keith left blinking at the sound.

Krolia’s laugh is something so untethered that Keith has trouble catching onto it at first; Keith watches with a small, gentle astonishment as his mother tosses her head back on a deep, throaty laugh and one hand comes out to slap the table to catch herself. This is the most relaxed he’s seen his mom in… well, Keith thinks this is honestly the most relaxed he’s _ever_ seen Krolia. It’s wondrous to Keith that they can be sitting on the precipice of a decision that could shape the final end of a godforsaken war, and yet she’s able to let her guard down enough in this bubble of a moment to give life to the little joy they have surrounding them in the abandoned dining room.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my love,” Krolia says after her quick, uncontrolled outburst is easily quelled with a hand on her belly and a wipe at her eyes. “I do not laugh _at_ you, but that I get to see my son be so _happy_, is all,” Krolia tells him with an open smile.

Keith lets her explanation answer the confusion echoing in him. “Well, I am,” Keith says a little dumbly in agreement, folding his arms around his chest. He realizes all the plates have been cleared from the table by now. “Even if I am a little nervous, I guess.” Keith lets the admission sit between them; he wants to see how it settles in a room with both the people he respects most.

“Well, you have no reason to be nervous,” Shiro finally speaks as he lets his hand slide from Keith’s shoulder. His hand lands on the table with a gentle thud as he taps his fingers a few times. “You and Lance seem to have worked out whatever it is you disagreed on, so just let yourself enjoy it, yeah?”

Krolia hums on Keith’s other side. “Yes, it’s important to embrace happiness when it comes.”

Keith swallows and nods, the images of them tightly layered on top of each other in this moment where they’re _so_ similar in their love for Keith making it hard for him to think. “Yeah, no—I will,” Keith tries to agree but the words jumble in his mouth.

Thankfully the kitchen doors open one last time. Keith turns to see Allura sneaking back in. She looks like she’s ruffled—her hair is slightly unruly as she ducks her head around the closing doors.

“Is he still following you?” Keith asks with a smirk, grateful at the sudden shift in attention away from him.

Allura takes a deep breath as she steps away from the closed doors, seeming to gather herself, before opening her eyes with a huff. “He’s _not_ going to bother me,” Allura answers instead, but Keith lets it be his too. “Anyway,” Allura says with another breath, “before I have to get started in the command room, Keith—” she’s all eyes now as she strides toward Keith.

“What’s up?” Keith swallows, afraid he might have been grateful too soon.

Allura’s smile turns apologetic toward Krolia and Shiro as she finally stops before them. “Sorry to steal him, but Keith—I thought of a way to repay you. You know, for your talk,” Allura fills in for him when Keith just stares at her. “Anyway, the stars we’re visiting—they’re going to be a beautiful sight. And I thought of the perfect room in the castle you could view it from with Lance over your dinner date. Please say yes, I want to thank you somehow.”

Keith’s mouth is ajar on the automatic rebuttal he has about Allura owing him any thanks, but then there’s such earnest gratitude in her eyes that Keith just sighs instead. “Yeah, okay, that sounds great.” Keith releases the last reluctant tension from his shoulders. “Thanks Allura.”

Allura’s laugh is clear and bright. “Don’t thank me for _my_ thanks!” She teases before tugging at Keith’s arm. “Alright, up, up! I’ll show you the room—I’m afraid it might need a little ah… TLC, I believe you would say,” Allura mutters so lowly that Keith nearly doesn’t catch it as he allows himself to be dragged up and away.

Keith shoots Krolia and Shiro both apologetic glances as he’s being taken, but they both have such fond looks of exasperation on their faces that Keith thinks they understand.

Krolia speaks up before Allura has Keith too far from his seat.

“Princess—Allura, I mean,” Krolia corrects with a smile, “if I may, I might steal your suitor away for some time then; I believe Lotor may have information pertinent to several open Blade mission failures.” Krolia stands and bows slightly at her waist. When she straightens, there’s a subtle mischief settled in her smile. “I assume his attempts at communication won’t be missed for a while?”

Allura visibly sighs with relief. “Thank you, Krolia,” she murmurs in passing as Krolia exits through the opposite doors. Keith gives a wave to Shiro just as he’s pulled through the way toward the guest dorms, and he wonders if this is what it’s like to have full-time friends.

* * *

“Alright, so,” Allura says with a huff as she stops in front of a door way too far down a corridor Keith is fairly certain he’s never even seen. Her grip on Keith’s wrist finally loosens as he comes to a stop beside her. “As you can imagine, some of the more… frivolous rooms have been forgotten when it comes to regular cleaning.”

“So it’s filthy, right?” Keith asks, raising an eyebrow at the way Allura’s shoulders deflate.

“Well, it has seen better days, I’m afraid,” Allura sighs and places her hand on the touchpad. The door slides open to reveal—

“Why… why are there_ so many_ boxes?” Keith asks hesitantly, almost afraid to know why there’s mountains of containers throughout the—admittedly large—room. He sticks his head through the door and takes a careful step forward around one of the strangely neat and tidy towers of sturdy Altean storage containers.

Allura walks through the maze with practiced ease, leading Keith to the middle of the room while she explains, “You must understand—the castle ship is primarily meant for _castle_ use. Most of the rooms you’ve seen that we use to store all the extra supplies for alliance planets had to be cleaned out and—well, all those things had to go _somewhere_.”

When Keith is able to squeeze himself in between two stacks, he finds Allura where she’s nestled in a brief break in the boxes. There’s a couple of chairs and a table still set up in the middle of the room, just surrounded by all these god_damn boxes_.

“Couldn’t you have found a… I don’t know, _better_ way to store all these things?” Keith asks incredulously as he eyes one particularly precarious stack next to him.

Allura gives him a scoff as she searches through an open box next to one of the chairs. “Well, _of course_ we could—but as you know, we’ve all been a little busy since we woke up from our 10,000 year slumber.” Her sarcasm is softened by the absent way she throws it at him, until finally her head pops back up with a triumphant look and a remote in her hand. “_Ah-hah!_ This will show you why I think the room is worth the work,” she explains with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes before she winks at him.

Keith is still skeptical even as he follows Allura through a makeshift path towards the window in the room. “I mean, I do appreciate the thought, Allura, but I _really_ don’t think anything will make cleaning this room _worth_—”

He’s cut off when she gives him a devious smile before deliberately pressing a button on the remote as they reach a large bay window sheathed in a solid sheet of slick-looking metal. The window panel begins to drag itself upwards, slowly but efficiently collapsing itself back into the ceiling.

Keith stares out at the expanse of the stars before them and tries to resist the urge to shrug. “That’s… a nice view?” He says unsurely, one shoulder halfway toward his ear before he’s straightening up again quickly. “But, uh, still—there’s _a lot _of boxes, Allura, and—”

Allura rolls her eyes in a way that makes Keith feel like he’s missing the point of something, so his jaw snaps shut when she starts to explain.

“Have you ever seen the cosmic event we’re talking about siphoning power from?” Allura asks Keith calmly, like she’s purposely trying to be slow. Keith tamps down on the instinct that tells him to push back against any question that implies he doesn’t know the answer to it and instead just shrugs.

“No,” Keith admits, crossing his arms. “I’ve heard of the theoretics about it before, though.”

“Well,” Allura says with a gently teasing smile, “it is going to be _quite_ the sight; as you probably know, neutron stars are what get created if a supernova does not create a black hole. So now imagine two of these—one consuming the other—until they finally collapse into one black hole.” Allura sighs, staring a little far off toward the stars.

Keith shifts between feet until Allura seems to bring herself back in with a small smile and clears her throat quietly. “If I’m being honest,” she adds over her shoulder as she starts to push a short stack of boxes a few inches over so Keith can move a little closer while she explains, “I got the idea when Lotor actually suggested he and I make time to observe it together tonight,” she tells him with a look that says she trusts Keith understands how she feels about the proposition—Keith makes a face of enough general confusion and distaste that he guesses it satisfies whatever reaction Allura is looking for because she continues when he’s able to stand beside her.

“Anyway, I figured the best place would be the control room but—well, I’m sure you two wouldn’t want to have your date there while Coran and myself are trying to convert energy,” Allura tells him with a laugh and at least this time Keith understands what’s funny. “So, here we are. Of course, feel free _not_ to use it, but I thought having an option would at least be nice.” There’s a friendly smile on her face that Keith can’t help but be warmed by.

“Thank you, Allura,” Keith says sincerely. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble for me, though.

“Nonsense!” Allura laughs and knocks her shoulder against Keith’s lightly. “It’s no trouble at all for me—you’re the one that will need to clean it. I would offer my help, but I’ll be—”

Keith waves off the apology in her eyes. “You’re going to be moving this entire ship at warp speed to a celestial event no human textbook even has a picture of—don’t worry, I understand.”

“I will be a little busy, yes,” Allura just laughs again but there’s a softness that has replaced that brief flicker of remorse in her eyes so Keith smiles. He looks around at all the work he has cut out for himself and sighs.

“I don’t know if I can get this cleaned out in time if I’m honest, but it is worth a shot I guess.” He pulls the communicator out of his pocket and checks the time; there’s still several hours before he even needs to start heating up the dinner Hunk had helped him pre-make yesterday. “Might be able to bribe Kosmo into helping with some treats,” Keith muses as he shoves his communicator back into his back pocket.

Allura’s eyes shine with some kind of mischievous glee. “I see you’ve taken to that name rather well.”

Keith coughs and refuses to look at her. “Well, the wolf seems to like it—not really my business what he goes by.” Keith tries to ignore the way some heat rises up his neck at the tinkling of her laugh through the air.

“Oh, well, I suppose I can’t argue with that logic,” she agrees airily, but it’s in a way that Keith doesn’t feel like he’s won the argument at all despite her concession. Allura continues despite the way Keith narrows his eyes at her as she presses the button on the remote again—the window covering silently coming back down—and pressing it into Keith’s hand. “But feel free to use any of the surrounding rooms to move these to,” she says as she pats one of the stacks next to them. “They’re a little full too, but I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“Worth a shot,” Keith shrugs with a smile and Allura places a gentle hand on his arm. Keith watches her fingers loosely curl around his wrist, right above where he grasps the remote, before he stares at her questioningly.

“So is your happiness, you know,” Allura tells him assuredly, her eyes more intense than a moment before. Keith just blinks at her and thinks about not dropping the remote.

“O...kay?”

“I mean it, Keith—it’s worth it, taking this ‘shot’ you are with Lance. I can see the difference already in both of you and—” Allura swallows and squeezes her grip on his wrist. Keith tries really hard to listen. “Well,” her fingers slowly release and their hands drop to their sides, “it’s been nice, seeing you both look happy. So if it’s not saying too much, I hope you _let_ _yourself_ be tonight.” Allura tells him with a sincerity that burns against Keith’s cheeks.

Keith watches her back for a moment before he nods and averts his eyes while muttering, “It’s not saying too much.”

“Well…good. That’s—good.”

There’s a silent moment before Keith is ready to meet her eyes again and then he’s clearing his throat and gesturing to the room. “Thanks, again. Guess I should get to it.”

Allura smiles a little too brightly, and Keith can see where she seems a little flustered at the sincerity weaving between them as well. Keith feels strangely calmed a bit by the notion Allura might feel just as uprooted as he does.

“Right! Yes, I suppose you should. Well, I probably won’t see you until morning then.” Allura’s smile fades into something fond. “Give my best to Lance tonight,” she says warmly and Keith rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” he agrees, but it’s mostly so he can get started on the monumental task he has to do within the next seven or so hours.

Allura gives his shoulder a light pat as she passes and disappears into the stacks of boxes, and Keith takes a wide look around himself; he takes a deep breath and allows himself a brief moment of feeling overwhelmed—like there would be absolutely no way he would be able to get all these moved in time—he then breathes out, and starts to shoulder his way out of his jacket. He lays it on the floor before putting his hands on his hips and letting out a low whistle—the one he’d perfected with Kosmo during sleepless nights in the abyss, and the one Keith has found out, through hours of training, that the wolf would come to within a couple mile radius.

When the poof of blue appears next to him with smoke and a wagging tail, Keith starts to move the first box.

* * *

Keith had sent Lance a brief message about the change of venue once he was sure he would be able to get through the mess—thankfully, apparently this room had been meant more for dignitaries, or whatever the Altean equivalent would be, and had some sort of smaller bedroom attached to the main suite that Keith was able to stuff most of the boxes in. Keith had tacked on a pin to his communicator’s GPS location so Lance couldn’t get lost—to which Lance immediately had taken offense and threatened to delete the directions and meet Keith off the memory of them alone.

The playful energy buzzing between them was enough to have Keith moving with a second wind throughout the rest of the room—and even now, as he just finishes turning down the bed after a debate with himself if that would look too presumptuous, he still feels the electric anticipation some few odd hours later.

The soft rap of knuckles against the metal door freezes Keith in a moment of almost panic as his eyes dart around the room he’s cleaned from ceiling to weird Altean carpet, like somehow feeling the last half day of preparing for this exact moment hadn’t helped him feel any closer to ready to see Lance; there’s a soft excitement that wouldn’t stop vibrating through Keith at just the _thought_ of him.

Keith doesn’t think he’s ever been very good at handling moments meant to carry too much weight and he’s afraid of doing something that might stop the momentum he can feel building in this one.

It isn’t until there’s a second, more hesitant knock that Keith realizes he’ll definitely mess tonight up if he doesn’t actually _open the damn door _and he nearly vaults himself across the just-made bed to the entrance of the room.

“Just a—one sec!” Keith calls, pushing one last protruding box back into the closet it’s poking out of.

When the door finally slides open—with a slap to the button as soon as Keith is close enough to reach it—Lance almost looks startled. His hand is still poised to knock, his mouth is slightly agape, and there’s a flush growing across his cheeks that Keith realizes with a start is because Keith has been staring at him for nearly a full minute now.

Keith clears his throat, tearing his eyes from Lance’s face as one hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. There’s a heartbeat between them as Keith stares at the ground and thinks he’s blowing this. “You’re, uh—you’re early.” _Totally blowing this._

Keith watches Lance shift his weight between his feet—his sneakers shuffling just a bit in Keith’s field of vision—and shoves down his nerves to chance a look up. Lance is staring at the ceiling, the redness on his cheeks still there but faint under one hand that has been slapped over his eyes. “How dumb would it be to admit I couldn’t wait any longer?” The wince in the words is nearly audible, but Keith wouldn’t have been able to tell if it weren’t for the scrunch of Lance’s nose.

Keith takes a breath. “Pretty dumb,” he agrees as calmly as he can muster.

Lance peeks out between his fingers, a scowl on his lips but mirth twinkling in his eyes. “Don’t go pushing your luck now, Kogane.”

“You’re the one who said it, _McClain_.” The words dance like a tease out of Keith’s mouth and the smile that’s left in their wake nearly hurts Keith’s cheeks with its width.

The scowl marring Lance’s lips doesn’t seem to stand a chance against the grin that slowly overtakes it as Lance drops his hands and shoves them in his pockets, leaning his hips back with the movement. “So, you gonna let me in, _or..._?”

Keith rolls his eyes and his hand is snapping out to snatch one of Lance’s belt loops in a move that has Lance yelping as he gets pulled through the door frame. The doors slide shut behind him.

Keith’s eyes glint with the memory from the night before and the way Lance’s teasing smirk had lit his blood on fire; there’s a silent moment where Lance is just staring up at Keith—his lips falling open just _so_ slightly—and it’s the opposite of that cocky energy Lance had parted him with before bed. But then Lance’s face is lighting up with some type of embarrassment as he tries to swat Keith away at the chest. The attempt is half-hearted at best as his hand drops to Keith’s shoulder instead, staring up at the way Keith can’t seem to stop watching him.

It only takes the breath between heartbeats before Lance is wrapping his arms around Keith’s neck and pulling him in for a rather enthusiastic kiss hello. Keith is moving instantly to accommodate the way Lance seems to fall in toward Keith and wraps his arms around Lance’s middle. There’s a hum of satisfaction lost in between their lips and Keith can’t tell if it’s his or not—and he supposes it doesn’t matter at this point, as a deep contentment spreads through his chest at the feeling of Lance sighing into his mouth and relaxing into his arms.

“Hi,” Lance whispers when he finally pulls away, his lips only a fraction of space away from Keith’s. When Lance presses his forehead up against Keith’s own, Keith smiles.

“Hi, _again_,” Keith whispers back. “Was that better?” he asks quietly, and Lance nods; Keith can feel it against his forehead, moving his hair with the gesture.

Keith squeezes Lance’s waist once and leans in for a quick peck on his lips before they’re disentangling themselves—Keith is pleased, however, that Lance still stays close enough for Keith to rest his hands on Lance’s hips.

There’s an obliviously content look glazing Lance’s eyes and Keith can’t help but almost laugh.

“What was that about not being able to resist, again?” Keith asks, his amusement gathered at the twist of his lips. Lance scowls at the use of his own words against him, shaking his head.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” Lance sniffs, swatting at Keith’s shoulder. The casual admission that Lance thinks he’s cute probably shouldn’t make all the air in his body suddenly turn to champagne bubbles, but Keith isn’t ashamed to admit Lance has always had such unique control over Keith’s reactions.

“Let me show you the set up,” Keith says instead of the words that feel like foam in his throat. Lance’s smile is soft as he nods, stepping away only to move to Keith’s side. Lance’s hand finds Keith’s in a movement so natural Keith doesn’t even realize their fingers are grasped together tightly until he’s tugging Lance over to the table he’s placed off to the edge of the room, right in front of the long window that covers the expanse of the wall.

Without the boxes to obscure the layout of the room, the window really grabs attention away from what little else there is in the suite; still, the small area for a couple of chairs is there and the raised platform for the bed is more than they’re used to in the paladin bedrooms so Keith is still grateful for it after all. Not to mention he’s fairly certain Lance is going to really enjoy the view from here, so he makes a mental note to tell Allura about the success.

“Very… Urban chic?” Lance tries as he turns and takes in the large sheet of metal covering the window, circling the small round dinner table Keith pillaged from a room next door. Lance’s fingers brush against the flat top of it slowly before trailing over the back of one of the two chairs surrounding it. Lance’s eyes dart to the tray set up beside it all and his lips quirk up into a tiny smile that has Keith feeling a small inkling of pride that Lance likes what he’s done.

Keith doesn’t even try to defend the view; instead, he crosses to the small sitting area behind them and finds the remote that activates room controls. He finds and presses the button that Allura had shown him earlier—he had been extra careful not to lose the remote in the mess of cleaning—before turning to watch as the actual view is slowly revealed to Lance as the protective metal screen begins to ascend up into the ceiling.

“Allura recommended this room for us,” Keith murmurs, putting the remote down quietly as he watches the lights of the stars outside illuminate Lance’s face.

“Allura has very good taste,” Lance comments absently, his eyes completely fixated on the intense vista stretched before them. Lance barely spares Keith a glance as he joins his side, but Keith is unable to pay the spectacle too much mind when Lance’s open wonder is something on display at the same time. Twin stars are stuck in a nearly measureless battle before them, and yet Keith’s eyes keep tracking back to watch as Lance appreciates the scene.

Somehow this immense cosmic metamorphosis expands into something downright celestial when Keith watches it reflected in Lance’s eyes.

“Thought we could watch it over dinner,” Keith says into the quiet between them. “If the food doesn’t kill us, that is,” Keith tries to joke but it doesn’t land right. Lance still manages to find it in the rubble and gives it a smile anyway, though.

“It still amazes me sometimes that we get to _see_ shit like this, you know?” Lance says with fascinated wonder, turning back to the window. Keith can’t help but look fondly at the awe clear on Lance’s face.

“Yeah,” Keith agrees with a hum, “Weird that we’d never even imagine witnessing events like these _this_ closely back at the garrison. I can’t imagine how excited Pidge and Hunk are right now.” This time there’s an easy air about the humor in Keith’s voice.

“They were planning on practically kidnapping Lotor once your mom gets done with him, last I heard. Apparently they’ve already gotten everything they’re gonna get out of Coran, and now they have to ‘challenge their sources’ or something,” Lance snickers, but his voice is warm with appreciation for their teammates.

“Sounds about right,” Keith laughs softly, shuffling closer and reaching a finger towards Lance’s hand in the space left between them. Lance’s fingers twitch in response, lightly tangling the tips of their fingers together as Lance smiles gently at him.

“This is nice,” Lance says easily, “Thank you.”

There’s a shake moving Keith’s neck, intent on making Lance know he doesn’t have to be grateful for something done _for him_—for everything he’s done for Keith, things he’ll probably never even _know_ he’s done for him. Lance moves on though, the platitude dissolving in the easy silence that follows. Keith relaxes again, his shoulders falling a little so he can better twine his fingers with Lance’s.

The glass looks almost rose tinted in the light of the stars some odd hundred million miles away. There’s a mixture of gasses and elements and debris scattered in a cocoon around the stars; it emits enough light to reflect through those miles and land in the room with them—casting everything in a warm shadow, and Lance’s skin looks welcoming so bathed in it.

There’s a dangerous twitch in Keith’s fingers, aching to reach out and hold more of Lance and take that warm invitation, but instead he forces himself to take a step back. “Gonna get the food set up, alright? Feel free to just watch it,” Keith says reassuringly, taking another step as Lance’s hand falls back to his side.

Lance nods with a soft smile and Keith turns on his heel to avoid being tempted to step back into Lance’s orbit. Keith didn’t make a lot—Hunk’s teachings were invaluable but really, there’s only so much Keith can learn to do in a day and a half with their limited supplies anyway—but there are a few dishes packed away in the basket-like contraption Hunk helped him unbury from the kitchen storage.

Keith is nearly finished in just a few minutes—whether he keeps getting distracted by watching Lance in furtive little glances isn’t something he’s willing to admit—when Lance’s quiet voice travels the space between them.

“It’s so tragic, don’t you think?” The way Lance’s eyes watch the two neutron stars circle each other in a violent dance—his expression so far away, so contemplative—pulls Keith away from unpacking the food at their small table and over to the watching bay, his shoulder brushing against Lance’s as Keith leans against the glass. “They already died once, right? And now here they are, having to die again. They’re destroying each other.”

Between the look in Lance’s eyes and the words that shatter the silence that had stretched on for a little too long, a pit starts to sink into Keith’s stomach. He turns to watch the two neutron stars pull each other apart; the debris and gases dissolve into a halo of light as the smaller star’s crust is crushed by the gravity of the other. Something urgent bubbles up in Keith’s throat, something telling him Lance is too far away right now to really be talking about the stars, and he has to _say_ something.

“I think it’s kind of beautiful,” Keith rasps out, eyes tracking every push and pull of the stellar beings before them. After a heartbeat, Keith turns his head to find Lance watching him. Keith swallows; he’s never been good at metaphors, but if that’s how Lance wants to talk, then Keith will try.

“Yeah?” Lance finally prompts, and Keith nods.

“Yeah, I mean…sure, they already technically died. But in death they were made into some of the most powerful things in the known universe, right? And if they hadn’t found each other, what would have happened to them? They’d what—live forever?” There’s a desperate edge to Keith’s voice but he can’t make himself stop now. “They’re willing to go through that terrifying ordeal again to _be_ together—and when it’s over, they’ll be stronger than before. They’ll create something that can never be broken.”

Lance watches him, his mouth slowly falling open at the rush of words that are spewed at his feet. Keith gets the urge to pull them all back into himself—the surprised look on Lance’s face makes Keith feel like he’s drowning, the air in his lungs frothing under the pressure—but Keith forces himself to let the words pool at their feet instead. He’ll wade through them if he has to, but he hopes Lance is willing to get a little wet here in this moment. It feels too defining to let himself make a run for the lifeboats, and he’s willing to wait with an outstretched hand to Lance.

“You’re…not really talking about the stars anymore, huh?” Lance finally asks, his eyes carefully blank. Keith swallows and feels the crest of each syllable against his ankles.

“Not really, no,” Keith admits, the swell of foam in his lungs suspended until Lance chooses the next move; everything feels weighed down by the waves between them, each beat of Keith’s heart pounding in his ears, as his focus singles in on the way a warmth begins to soften the edges of Lance’s eyes.

“And you really believe all that?”

Keith lets the pull of the tide nod his head forward once, twice. Lance’s gaze flits back and forth across Keith’s, the moment hanging between them.

“Okay,” Lance breathes out. He leans back, his shoulders bunching up toward his ears as his chest deflates with the rush of air. “Okay, we can work with that.” The soft grin that Lance aims up at Keith feels like a dam breaking. Keith’s chest surges with the release of pressure and it feels like the air is ripped from his chest in an implosion that has him weak in the knees.

Keith smiles and it’s a small but sturdy thing, still reeling itself in against those residual waves. Keith feels tired but light in a way he’s never felt before. He leans closer to Lance before he can stop himself, collapsing a fraction at the release of pressure. Lance mirrors him—that grin relaxing into a laugh that Keith would take on fleets of soldiers to preserve—leaning close enough Keith feels the heat rolling off him as one of his hands comes up to hold onto the hem of Keith’s shirt loosely, as if just to…to keep him there.

“Woah there, Space Cowboy, don’t go faintin’ on me,” Lance whispers in a low drawl through the soft laughter that Keith can’t help but mimic, rolling his eyes at the bad joke and shaking his head at the self-satisfied look in Lance’s eyes. Keith lets his head fall forward the fraction between his and Lance’s foreheads, letting out a content but shaky breath as Lance sighs and nuzzles closer—briefly, so quick with a press of the bridge of his nose against Keith’s cheek—before pulling away with a shy smile.

“So,” Lance breathes out, the flush spreading across his cheeks the only indication he’d been affected at all by their closeness just a second ago. “Dinner?”

Keith closes his eyes on a deep breath, trying to exhale the last bit of his shakiness at the way Lance’s skin felt so warm against his own—like the sun had dipped to kiss him, and Keith fought the urge to touch the spot on his cheek still burning from the caress. Instead Keith distracts his hands by pushing off the glass and reaching out in a humble but solid offering of an outstretched palm. Keith gives Lance a smile over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Keith tells him softly, “dinner.”

After Lance’s eyes flit between Keith’s face and hand once, there’s no hesitation in the way he leans forward—hand first, fingers reaching out—to grasp Keith’s fingers. Keith feels something slot into place in his chest and he knows the puzzle isn’t complete but it feels sturdier, like the foundation has expanded and been reinforced. He feels like he’s on solid ground when he adds, “Which I did _fully_ make myself, by the way.”

Lance laughs, letting himself be led to the abandoned table—their food is still covered, a basket of sad looking rolls sitting between the plates the only indication of what kind of cooking skills Keith had adopted over the last couple of days. “Don’t worry, I _think_ I believe you.”

It’s quiet but the air still feels familiar between them; similar but stronger, Keith thinks, because even in the most content nights between them before, something deep within Keith would still rumble in the quiet, ready to be agitated at the slightest provocation. Two years and finding his _mom_ finally began to put to rest that small part of himself so well-buried Keith never had the energy to carve it out of his chest while constantly fighting a war.

For a moment—for a brief, startling moment—Keith is infinitely grateful for the abyss. He doesn’t know if he would be getting this moment of redemption if Lance had to wait those full two years for him, too; where would Lance be if Keith had to settle that part of himself while they grew further and further apart with time? The comfortable silence that blankets them now couldn’t have been woven if the space between them had been stretched and left distended from years instead of months.

That silent blanket slips comfortably around their shoulders as the food starts to be uncovered with little fanfare—Lance still makes a point to make _ohhh_ing and _ahhh_ing noises, though, and the sounds bounce off a grin that stretches across Keith’s face as they get comfortable across from each other.

The food isn’t fantastic—but it’s still a lot better than Keith could have done two days ago, so he counts it as a win. Lance is relaxed and soft-looking as he considers the dish and finally decides to pluck a lumpy roll from the basket instead of even poking at the food. Hunk said that the shape was just due to all the substitutes they had to make in the recipe, but Keith still thinks that was probably just to make him feel better.

“Don’t worry,” Keith says as Lance doesn’t try to touch what Hunk assures him is what a quiche is _supposed_ to look like. “I did steal a basket of leftovers from breakfast, too. You liked those little pastry things, right?” Keith reaches for the second basket at the foot of the table, put away for dessert—or if the meal totally bombed.

“Keith, oh my god, stop—” Lance laughs, reaching across the table to swat Keith’s hands away. “This, it’s _great_—” Lance pulls back and takes a large, pointed bite of the quiche. Keith returns to his seat, silently watching as Lance’s enthusiastic chewing slowly but visibly becomes too much to maintain before he tries to spit it out as discreetly as possible into a napkin.

Keith puts the basket of leftovers in the middle of the table.

Lance ignores it, and instead takes a careful bite of what would probably be mashed potatoes if mashed potatoes were almost orange and too chunky. Lance makes a considering face. “You know, this one is actually pretty good!” He shovels another bite in enthusiastically and Keith just rolls his eyes, his fondness for the knack Lance has for patching things together—the way he can so easily see something broken and give it life.

Keith tries to hide some of that fondness away as he takes some of the leftovers out and puts them on the table, finally moving the basket back to the ground. Lance has a tiny grin at the edge of his lips as he nabs a fruit tart as soon as Keith gets them placed.

“For what it’s worth,” Lance grins cheekily, “at least I do now _one-hundred percent_ believe you made that dinner on your own.”

“You are such a _brat_,” Keith huffs out, shaking his head and reaching out to take Lance’s fruit tart in retaliation. He expects at least a little fight back, so when Keith is able to easily take it and pop it into his mouth, he realizes Lance is just staring at him. There’s a light dusting of red across his cheeks again, but Keith doesn’t know what he said this time—although he isn’t complaining if it has Lance looking so gently ruffled.

“So, I feel like we should talk through some uh, _things_,” Lance says with a cough into his fist as he breaks their stare and grabs his roll again. “You know, before we—well, before we go any further with… this.” Hesitancy is dulling his eyes a little as he sneaks a look at Keith before returning to watch the way his own fingers pick apart the piece of bread. The timid set to Lance’s shoulders, the determined attention to the way his fingers tear apart the roll—Keith realizes it’s less hesitancy and more embarrassment, his eyes tracking the pink that blooms across Lance’s cheeks the longer Keith watches him.

After a moment of quick, quiet deliberation Keith plucks one of the torn pieces up and pops it in his mouth. Lance looks up with a mock-offended scowl, a tiny smile at the edge of his lips. It does the trick, though—there’s less reluctance in the set of Lance’s shoulders as he slides back against his chair and waits for Keith’s answer.

“I told you, I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Keith tells him easily, surprised at the honesty that rings deep in his chest. There’s not a single thing that weighs down the open and airy agreement; Keith had never really understood the urge to have absolutely no barriers between yourself and another person, but he’s on the precipice of opening a gate to pure candor—and knowing if he does, there’s no closing it again. This type of trust—this type of quiet intimacy—is just too much to share with more than one person for Keith. If he gives this key to Lance, Keith doesn’t know if he’ll have the strength to make another.

It almost scares him how much he still wants to give it to Lance.

“Hmm, that’s a rather hefty statement there, Kogane,” Lance laughs, soft and low, and it sends a shiver down Keith’s spine. “Are you sure you’re ready to own up to it?”

Keith nods a little too quickly. Lance’s bottom lip falls open just a bit when Keith leans over the table to take his hand; Lance’s fingers twitch against Keith’s palm. “I am ready to do whatever it takes to make you understand how serious I am about this,” _about you_, Keith’s heart echoes back, and he swallows to keep the words from squeezing out between his ribs.

Lance stares at him, a little wide-eyed and gaping—his chest rises with the deep inhale he takes before whispering a gentle, “Okay,” with no humor left to breathe into the word. Keith watches Lance back for a beat—one more, just to be sure—before he finally settles back in his seat. His fingertips still have the ghostly sensation of Lance’s skin brushing against his.

“So what do you want to know?”

Lance clears his throat, bringing his other hand up to the table to grasp them together. “Man, it’s hard to know where to even start.” The laugh punctuating the admission is self conscious, still; so is the little glance Lance gives him before asking, “I guess I’ve always kind of wondered why you uh, had started all… this? Like—not like _that_, but I mean—ugh, this is awkward to say so I’m just _gonna say it_—why did you start just like, cuddling me all the time?”

Keith blinks. Then—a laugh bursts from his chest, startling him and Lance. It dies down as quickly as it came, a few bubbles still popping up in between, “Sorry, sorry I just—I could have sworn we’d already talked about this, and out of _everything_—” Keith coughs, a smile still threatening on the curve of his lips. Lance watches him with amusement.

“Nope, we really didn’t,” Lance tells him, leaning forward to prop his chin up on one hand. “Which, I mean, I guess it doesn’t really matter. I had just always wondered, because it was _so_ weird at the time—it drove me nuts trying to understand you, just ask Hunk.”

Keith hums, thinking. “I don’t really know, to be honest. I know you and I weren’t as close back then, but I still—well, I still thought of you as my closest friend, outside of Shiro. But it had always been different, with you.”

“Different how?” There’s a deep and honest curiosity in Lance’s eyes—his key being clutched so close to Lance’s heart with warm reverence—that Keith pushes the gate that last inch open. There’s so much authentic wonder—almost reverent with the way Lance watches him for the first syllable of an answer, like this is a mystery he’s dedicated his life to solving and—and, well, it eases Keith into his resolve to be as open as possible. Somehow, with Lance’s full attention, it’s easier to let things Keith had never even considered saying out loud be released into the air between them.

“I mean, Shiro has always been someone I know I can count on. But you—I don’t know, you just _proved_ I could. Like, even when you were yelling at me, you’d still be covering my back, you know? And you let me be _stupid_ in ways I never could be with Shiro—”

“Hey!” Lance tries to kick him beneath the table with a scowl that can’t stay in place through the chuckling that keeps splitting his lips into a grin.

Keith laughs, catching Lance’s ankle between his own. “In a good way, idiot.”

“Better be the _best_ way,” Lance mumbles, but there’s mirth in the corner of his eyes.

“And honestly, that first time was an accident. Then—you know, you didn’t freak out, so. Made me think maybe you felt… Something? Or at least, you didn’t hate me as much as you said you did. The chance of that being true, though? I knew I shouldn’t, but…” Keith breathes in and releases it behind a shy smile. “I let myself hope.”

“Wow, uh.” Lance blinks, his mouth a baffled _O_ that makes Keith’s cheeks heat slowly as seconds tick between them.

“Is that—was that too much?” Keith’s fingertips prickle with anxiety. He wants to tell Lance everything, but he realizes Lance may not actually _want_ to hear everything. It’s a raw and terrible vulnerability that shudders throughout his veins at the thought of being so frightfully known then have parts picked and sowed; which piece would cause Lance to toss it to the side—which pieces were too big to carry?

“No!” Lance shouts hastily, slapping one palm flat on the table, the plates and glasses clinking dangerously. Lance winces, pulling his arm back off the table quickly. “No, I just—sorry, I just don’t want you to think anything you could share right now would be too much, okay? I’m in full support of this whole sharing circle thing we have going on,” Lance gestures widely in a circle between them, “you got that?”

“Yeah,” the corner of Keith’s lips twitch upward around the words, “I got that.”

That deep and putrid ball of doubt buries itself back in between Keith’s ribs after he swallows it down; it’s hard to accept someone wouldn't find pieces of you to be too heavy when you've been weighed down by them your entire life, but Keith is determined to lighten the burden of apprehension set in his chest.

“It was just a little surprising, is all. It had just… seemed so unexpected. To me, I mean—back then.”

“Yeah,” Keith laughs softly at the way Lance fumbles his intent, “I got that too.”

Lance watches him for a beat and then exhales, a small smile at the corner of his mouth; the gentle curve of those lips reflects the beginning of an understanding that Keith isn’t going to be overwhelmed with any of Lance’s pieces, either.

“Sooo…” Lance breathes out, eyes softer than they have any right to be, “You like me, huh?”

Keith watches, too loose with warmth to hide the affection in his expression. “Something like that, yeah,” Keith says and it feels like a confession. Lance’s face heats up like it is one, too, and Keith grins. “You know, I never really understood the hype about it all until I met you,” he tells Lance casually, waiting for Lance’s face to catch up with his brain as it short-circuits a little with a realization.

“Wait,” Lance’s eyes widen, leaning forward excitedly with a conspiratorial edge to his grin. Keith is compelled to drift forward too, always pulled like a magnet when Lance gets too close. “Are you telling me I'm your first crush?”

“Ugh, don’t call it that,” Keith pushes Lance’s face away but Lance bats at his hands, fingers wrapping around Keith’s wrists and his thumbs rub little barely-there circles against his pulse. Keith swallows, his heart beating a too-fast rhythm against his ribs even as Lance releases his wrists.

“But… yeah,” Keith clears his throat. “I mean, I guess I just—had never gotten to know anyone enough to really get the chance to be attracted to them, you know? You’re the first person to come back for more whenever I would go too far, and you stayed by my side, Lance. But that’s as far as you would come, and you’ve been there so long that—” Keith swallows, trying to distract himself from the admission by turning some of the food over with his fork. “That it’s really hard to resist when you’re so close, now.”

Lance’s eyes are blown wide, listening with rapt attention as each word tumbles from Keith’s lips. “Resist what?”

Keith watches the way each syllable shapes Lance’s lips and the question has Keith wanting to bare himself as much as he can. “_You_, Lance. Every day, every _minute_ of the last two years I’ve spent thinking about every future we could possibly have. And even if I didn’t know what that future actually looked like—I knew it would be okay so long as I could keep you in it. And now that you’re right in front of me, closer than ever? It’s really, _really_ hard to focus on anything else.”

Lance’s pupils swell until the blue of his eyes is barely noticeable. Keith swallows, hard. Still, he has to clear his throat before breaking the silence between them that goes on for a little too long as Lance watches him, eyes wide.

“So, now that you know my intentions,” Keith jokes but it’s a little too close to the truth to stick a landing, “I think it’s only fair if you share too, yeah? Wanna tell me why you didn’t freak out that first time?”

Lance’s smile turns into something too coy for Keith’s heart. “Well, for starters, I think we both know full well that I did, in fact, freak out. I’m just too smooth for it to be noticeable,” Lance’s grin is wolfish, and Keith wants it to devour him.

“Yeah, you let yourself believe that,” Keith tosses back, a little too belatedly. Lance definitely notices how distracted Keith’s gaze is, the way his eyes track each movement of Lance’s lips. Keith can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed by his own obvious attention.

“But for real, man, I’m not really sure,” Lance admits after a moment of blatant watching. He reaches between them, taking the hand that Keith wasn’t using to fiddle with his fork. “I thought it would be like, weirder, for sure. You know, liking a guy.”

Keith’s heart trips over itself at the easy way Lance says it. It gives him the courage to whisper back, “I wasn’t sure if it was something you’d even consider, at first.”

Lance softens, his shoulders bowing inward; Keith wants to curl himself into the inviting curve of Lance’s chest. Lance’s thumb brushes a maddening rhythm against Keith’s skin before he says, “I dunno. I mean, it’s not something I had really ever thought about, honestly. But I was never actively against it, either. But no one else—dude or otherwise—has ever stayed _so_ stuck under my skin, man. It wasn’t until you made that first move that I had really considered it anything other than annoyance,” Lance takes a bite, something thoughtful in the edge of his eyes.

Keith doesn’t think he’s supposed to answer, and he can’t even swallow past the desert in his throat so he just gives Lance as much time as he needs to continue.

Lance’s attention finally finds Keith again in full, those eyes pinning Keith with begging intent. “But then I realized it had always _burned_, you know? Too much to be anything other than attraction, and it made sense—because every time you were close I felt like I could do _anything_, Keith.”

“That,” Keith rasps, his mouth not wanting to do anything other than drop open on a surprised _O_, “is a good reason not to freak out, I guess.” Lance grins, obviously enjoying the effect he’s had on Keith’s fine motor functions.

“And besides,” Lance tells him way too casually, “I think we could be stronger than before, too. I want to get to know you, Keith—_this_ you, and everything that got you here. Because everything I learn about you just makes me want you more at this point.”

The words ignite an inferno that expands Keith’s ribcage with the swell of heat, stealing his breath and burning him alive. He wants so badly to reach out—to _touch—_but he doesn’t want to singe Lance. “I know what you mean,” Keith tells him, the smoke on his breath tasting like an admission. “I never meant to let myself go so far before, though. I never wanted to hurt you…” Keith swallows down some ash to whisper, “You know, that night.”

Lance’s grip on Keith’s hand tightens before his other hand lifts up to stretch across their forgotten food, his fingers carding through the hair at the back of Keith’s neck as he anchors him in place; the intensity in Lance’s eyes is enough to make Keith freeze, barely even breathing as he watches Lance’s lips in anticipation.

“I have _never_ regretted what we did that night, Keith. Even when I thought you weren’t—” Lance draws in a shaky breath and Keith wants to breathe stability back into him. “I know what it means for you to let me in, Keith, and even if it happened during a time we aren’t really proud of, I’m _glad_ you let yourself go around me, okay?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was ever using you—” Keith has to make sure Lance knows, desperate to let himself remember that night without any regrets.

Lance’s fingers tighten in Keith’s hair, his gaze insistent. “I know—I _know_, Keith,” Lance lets out another unsteady breath, pulling Keith a fraction closer as his eyes watch Keith’s lips with an almost absent intensity. “I never thought you could be using me, Keith, I’ve _always_ known—”

Keith can’t withstand the pull any longer, ignoring the clatter of plates as he pushes forward—his hands mirror Lance’s, curling around the sides of Lance’s neck to drag him closer. The way Lance’s lips immediately yield to the press of his own has Keith already wound too tight to do anything but whine at the pressure of it. Lance clutches him close, his fingers nothing but a desperate grasp as his thumbs press into the hinge of Keith’s jaw and encourage him to deepen the kiss. Lance lets out a shaking gasp as Keith’s tongue slides against his, everything velvet and warmth as Keith presses forward.

Even with how real each flashback felt, nothing compares to the brush of Lance’s skin against his own; he’s so very present in this moment—the air catches in Keith’s chest as he takes in every little breath and sound Lance lets escape against Keith’s lips.

“So,” Lance manages to gasp out between kisses, “if I promise I don’t think you’re using me for my totally hot bod, can we _please_ pick up where we left off last time? I know we don’t want to move too fast, but God, Keith, I don’t know how much longer I can _wait_—” Lance chokes off, his eyes too focused on Keith’s mouth before he has to lean in with a groan as he tries to capture Keith’s lips again.

Keith answers him with little more than a half grunted agreement as he nods too quickly, pulling himself up with Lance still attached to him, barely avoiding knocking the table over in their haste. Keith leads Lance in a clumsy path toward the bed, unwilling to detach himself long enough to really look where they’re going before his knees hit the edge of the bed and Keith stumbles as he flops down and pulls Lance with him. Lance is easily convinced to follow, tugged by his hips to straddle Keith’s lap.

“We’ll go slow starting tomorrow, okay?” Lance tells him with a heaving breath and a grin too devilish to do anything but ignite Keith’s bones. He surges forward, yanking Lance down to meet his open press of lips—he’s too alive with the static crackling under his skin to even pretend he has an ounce of control over the desperate push of his body against Lance’s.

“God, _fuck_ going slow,” Keith tells him plainly between presses of his lips to Lance’s jaw and down his throat. “I want everything with you, Lance, and I _know_ you know that—” Lance gasps as Keith uses his grip on Lance’s hips to pull him into a slow grind. “I’m never going to let you go again, okay? I’m going to show you how much I want you, Lance, I’m going to _show_ you how much I—” Keith has to choke himself off, burying his face into Lance’s shoulder before he says too much; there are still some things it’s too soon to say, he thinks, even as he burns with the need to make sure Lance understands everything he means to him.

“Please, for the _love of God_, _Keith,” _Lance rasps out between heaving breaths, hips stuttering against Keith’s in a chaotic rut of nothing but need and desperation. His hands clutch Keith’s hair—practically cradling Keith against his shoulder—and Keith feels that same chaos building in his belly, the flames of it licking upwards and choking him with the heat.

“Out,” Keith pants, fingers pushing at the waistband of Lance’s jeans, “get the fuck _out_ of these, Lance, _right now_.” Lance follows the gravelly command without hesitation, fingers already on his zipper by the time he’s standing. His eyes are blown wide, heavy with want, but the demand for reciprocation doesn’t get lost in the depths of it. Keith complies and shimmies out of his jeans—underwear pulled down with them—just in time for Lance to climb back into his lap all the while keeping that weighty gaze on Keith’s eyes.

Lance’s hips hover barely a breath over Keith’s, waiting for something—permission, maybe, to go farther than they ever have before, to break past that boundary—before Keith surges forward and kisses that hesitancy right out of his posture. Arms wrapping around Lance’s waist, Keith pulls him down and immediately tightens that hold at the heated contact between their hips. Lance pulls away from Keith’s lips on a gasp, head falling onto Keith’s shoulder to watch where they drag together with each thrust.

“Oh my God,” Lance breathes, nearly reverent, and Keith echoes the sentiment in the way his lungs try to heave in the heated air. His chest expands with effort, and he has to slowly blow it out to keep himself from being lost in the sensation—he’s determined to savor this chance he had so recently thought he would never get again.

Tentatively, Keith reaches between their bodies and wraps his fingers around both of them; Lance sucks in a breath against Keith’s shoulder, shuddering somewhere low in his belly at the tight grip Keith uses to drag his palm up slowly—and then back down on a hard pull, pressing his own low groan into Lance’s hair. He doesn’t even care as some of those longer strands get in his mouth, and instead he just presses his lips into Lance’s temple with a devout kiss.

Lance’s hand comes up to cradle the other side of Keith’s neck—fingers trembling but clutching him so close—while he presses wet pants into Keith’s shoulder. He can feel those pants turn more ragged as Lance’s teeth scrape against his skin, and Keith can’t help but buck up at the shock of it.

The friction is good—so, so fucking good—but when Lance’s hips start meeting those pulls of Keith’s hand with shallow thrusts Keith knows he needs _more_. The dry press of them against each other isn’t enough to satisfy the hungry itch under Keith’s skin; it’s too deep, too wanting, and he doesn’t think anything short of consuming Lance—or being consumed by him—will leave him fulfilled.

Keith presses a kiss into Lance’s hair again, breathing in deep to try and string together something coherent. “Can I—”

“_Yes_,” Lance gasps, “whatever you want—the answer is yes so long as you do it _now, please_.”

“_God_, Lance,” Keith breathes at the permission, the desperation—the _trust_, even if it’s just to take care of him here. The feeling overwhelms Keith and he surges forward again, dragging Lance close by the back of his neck and immediately licking into his mouth. The wet heat of Lance’s tongue is welcoming him even with the sudden kiss, and so are Lance’s hands as he grips Keith’s shoulders to use as leverage—his hips swinging a little more loosely, his cock dragging against Keith’s with every push and grind.

Keith’s belly grows hot with every spike of pleasure that rolls through him and when his hands drop to tightly grip at Lance’s ass and direct those reckless ruts, Keith thinks he may find God tonight.

“Fuck, _yes_,” Lance pants into his mouth, hips stuttering at the new guidance but then following each push and pull of Keith’s hands with an eager moan that vibrates against Keith’s lips and tumbles down each of his ribs. “We should _never _stop touching,” Lance demands but he sounds half out of it.

It makes Keith let out a breathy chuckle, nosing his way down to the cut of Lance’s jaw and brushing his lips there with a gentleness that feels disconnected from the rough thrusts of his hips.

“You want that?” Keith hums, bottom lip catching on Lance’s jaw as he leans his head to the side, baring it for Keith. Dutifully, Keith greets the invitation with his mouth as he tongues at a sensitive patch of skin under Lance’s ear.

“_Haaa_—mmm, yes, I want that. Missed you so damn much,” Lance murmurs, sounding out of breath already. The admission rattles against Keith’s heart, knocking loose the hope he’d kept hidden away to keep from cutting himself on the edges; now, though, it fills his chest like a flood that he can’t block from flowing out his mouth and fingers and every thrust.

Gripping Lance’s ass tighter, he uses it to lift Lance enough to flip him on his back—he flops on the bed with only a little bounce, since Keith catches him with his undivided attention still focused on that patch of skin that earns him those throaty little moans Lance pours out from his lips.

The new position draws their hips even closer; Keith presses his face deeper into Lance’s neck—teeth grazing down his jaw to the soft point of his throat—as he tucks his cock in the heat between Lance’s own and his hip, nestled between hot skin and short curls. Lance clutches at Keith’s back, fingers digging in as if Keith might float away if he lets go. The thought burns through Keith’s mind; leaving Lance ever again, especially right now, rolls against his stomach and a fierce urge to show Lance how tied he is—to Lance, to this moment, the idea of a _them_—pulls Keith up to stare down at Lance’s open and slack face.

Heavy eyed and lips still searching for Keith’s, Lance blinks up at him with a question in his gaze. Keith feels overwhelmed at the sight; to have Lance beneath him, warm and real and so goddamn inviting, Keith is so full he might burst.

“You okay there, big guy?” Lance murmurs, sneaking a hand between them to cup Keith’s face. Sighing, Keith leans into the touch.

“I’m just…” Keith falters, words stuck in his throat. There’s nothing that can describe how grateful, how insurmountably happy he is to even get this moment. “God, Lance, I just missed you too,” Keith says finally but it doesn’t feel like enough. The look that softens Lance’s face tempers the feeling of inadequacy that’s scrambling to find more words, though, as it dissolves Keith’s breath into the gravity between them.

“I know,” Lance tells him, his fingers trailing over Keith’s face in feather-light touches. “We have time, Cowboy. We have _so much_ time, we’ll make up for it.”

Keith _melts_; the assurance sets Keith’s lungs on fire first, a molten reaction pouring through his chest and his body until he thinks he might actually combust at the heat of it all.

He feels that magma rise through his chest; it sets fire to any lingering, coherent thought and burns away everything but the need to ensure Lance knows Keith belongs to him—heart, body, and goddamn soul, Keith _belongs_ to Lance.

“Lance, I—” Keith chokes around a groan, the sweltering heat burning away into a hot desperation that spreads like wildfire. Lance’s expression ignites when he recognizes the change in Keith’s energy; mouth opening on a soft gasp, Lance squeezes Keith’s shoulder and rolls his hips upward in an achingly slow grind. The bare pull of skin against skin sets alight every nerve ending within Keith’s body—it’s almost painful, how much he wants to make Lance come undone beneath him, to feel that eruption up close.

Keith’s head drops to the cradle of Lance’s shoulder, mouthing messy kisses into the skin of Lance’s neck. It’s way too hot between them; the air is positively boiling with each breath and Keith feels sweat beading and pooling at the small of his back and between their bodies. It should be gross, probably, but Keith can’t help the satisfied groan that bubbles out of his chest with the easier slide of their thrusts. Hauling one arm under Lance’s thigh with his bent arm, Keith leans deeper into the embrace of Lance’s body.

“God, Keith, plee_aahhh—jesus_, yes, right _there_—” Lance words struggle out around pants that echo in Keith’s ears. It hits Keith that he’s going to make Lance come, just like this—he’s going to feel Lance completely break beneath him, he’s going to _be the cause_.

“You’re going to drive me _crazy_, Lance, I don’t know how you—” Keith nips at the tender skin of Lance’s throat, half mad with the need to get Lance off. It’s been so long—_so long_, and so much has happened since the last time Keith got to be witness to such raw benediction. It feels insurmountably larger than last time; uncertainty had broiled the edges of their first invocation, but this time they are fortified in their knowledge of each other and what the nuances of what an _us_ could look like between them.

And by God, all Keith wants is to find out what Lance—safe and secure and _begging_ Lance—feels like falling apart for him.

“Wanna take you apart, Lance,” Keith whispers into the cut of Lance’s jaw, tongue flicking out to taste the sweat beading there. “Wanna know what you look like when you come apart beneath me, wanna _taste_ you—” Keith gasps out around short and hard ruts of his hips. The low whines Lance lets out with each thrust knock Keith in the chest and steal all the air out of his lungs.

“Yes, please, baby, I want—” Lance stretches his neck, the broken whimper caught in his throat vibrating against Keith’s lips. That’s not what snatches the last, wispy thread of coherent thought Keith has though.

“Say that—oh, _fuck_—call me that again,” Keith gasps, hips roughly grinding a relentless pace that drags against the entire length of Lance’s shaft and Keith, he—he _shudders_ at the feeling, curling the grip on Lance’s thigh closer toward his own body. He needs Lance _closer_. He needs Lance everywhere, needs _himself_ everywhere _on_ Lance.

“_Baby,_” tears out of Lance’s mouth along with a low groan as Keith pulls Lance so close by that long, lithe thigh that his thrusts turn to little else but half-aborted bucks that send sparks up Keith’s spine.

The fingers clutching Keith’s shoulders dig in hard enough to bruise before Lance is crying out a broken _God, Keith, I’m—_before his palms drag against Keith’s back and pull him so close Keith thinks he might suffocate. And then the feeling of Lance’s come between their hips—warm and slick and _God, it’s _Lance—trips Keith over the edge of a bright supernova that burns him up into a heaving, groaning mess as he comes with long, indulgent strokes.

As he slowly starts to come back down, Keith mouths lazy marks against Lance’s throat—the sounds Lance makes each time Keith’s teeth worry the skin just a _little_ too hard harmonize with the little out of breath, overstimulated whines he’s letting out every time Keith shifts their hips together. Keith noses a wet kiss right under Lance’s jaw before pulling away and lifting up onto his arms.

Lance watches him with hazy, warm eyes, and the smile on his face is a loose thing as he blinks up at Keith. “That was _well_ worth the wait,” he says conspiratorially, but Keith doesn’t quite understand what Lance finds so funny about it as he trails off with relaxed giggles; Lance’s eyes are full of unrestrained adoration, though, so Keith doesn’t need to get the joke to know Lance isn’t being sarcastic.

“Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?” Keith suggests almost reluctantly, the feeling of Lance so pliant beneath him making him seriously consider forgetting about the mess between them. Lance doesn’t look like he’s moving again under threat of death, so Keith takes it upon himself to go get washcloths for them both from the bathroom. As he struggles to get out of bed without kneeing Lance, Keith finally scoots off the end of the bed and catches the way Lance—very poorly—tries to hide under an arm thrown over his face.

“I can’t believe we didn’t even make it through _one_ date,” Lance huffs out from the crook of his elbow. Keith watches Lance for a silent moment before he can’t help but let his eyes wander over the soft lines of Lance’s body as he lays spent against the sheets.

“Oh, come on, man,” Lance laughs but it’s a breathy thing—Keith’s eyes snap up to see Lance eyeing him from under his forearm, the redness in his cheeks probably a mixture of both the exertion and Keith’s obvious appreciation.

“Sorry,” Keith lies, the small but feisty grin at the edge of his lips enough to have Lance groaning and covering his face again. “What, I’m not supposed to look at you?” This Lance is _real_—not one freshly pulled from memory, but rather a tangible dream laying before him; so Keith can’t bring himself to stop soaking in every image of Lance like he’ll only ever get to see him again in flashes.

“Not with _that_ look, when we’re supposed to be getting _clean_,” Lance says pointedly, but Keith just rolls his eyes as Lance peeks a cheeky grin out from underneath his arm.

Keith rummages through the cabinets in the attached bathroom and finds a couple of cloths and wipes himself down perfunctually as he warms up the water in the sink. When it’s warm enough, he takes one of the clothes and wets it before ringing it out and shaking off the excess. When he comes back, Lance has stopped hiding and is instead leaned up on his forearms, his stomach covered in come.

Keith catches Lance’s shy smile as he comes back over to settle next to Lance on the bed. There’s a content surety in Keith’s movements as he takes the warm rag and starts to wipe away the mess on Lance’s stomach. Lance inhales a quivering breath, one that shivers up his stomach where Keith’s fingers work gently.

“You… made sure it was warm?” Lance asks, a tiny bit of wonder in the question.

Keith’s fingers freeze only for a second before he resumes, shooting one arched eyebrow at Lance. “Is that… weird? Did you _want_ it to be cold—” Keith is cut off from his confusion with Lance’s warm laugh. When Keith meets his eyes again, there’s a depth to the delight in Lance’s smile.

“No, it’s just—” Lance stops, his smile too big for the words, but he finally contains it enough to say, “I don’t know, man, I just realized how much you’re letting yourself just _be_. You’ve always been so wound up with how conflicted you were with me, with the war, with _everything_.”

There’s enough truth in the statement to reign in the rest of Lance’s smile, something more tender left in its wake. “I just realized this is how you are when it’s just _you and me_, you know? And turns out you’re a big ol’ softie.” Lance’s grin splits his lips again and it’s bright enough to make Keith ache despite the mischievous edge to it.

The familiar flare of teasing challenge sparks in Keith’s blood and he flicks the wet rag sharply at Lance’s chest. Laughter bubbles out of them both as Lance playfully yields. Lance’s grin is infectious as Keith tosses the rag to the floor before nodding toward their clothes.

“You think we should get dressed?” Keith asks, even though the idea of losing even an inch of Lance’s skin to clothes is offensive but he wants to make sure Lance stays comfortable.

Lance eyes the clothes suspiciously before finally sighing, conceding with, “Probably at least underwear.” Keith shrugs away the small sense of mourning at the loss but steps into the pair Lance tosses him from where he’s sorting their clothes.

They’re finally settling with their backs pressed against the headboard and cushions when Keith asks, “Do you regret not being able to make it through ‘one date’?”

Lance shifts, crossing his legs half on top of Keith’s as he watches Keith with an open and curious wonder. “You know, if I’m being honest, I didn’t figure we’d make it through tonight. And—I wasn’t completely sure how I felt about that before I walked through those doors.”

There’s enough softness in Lance’s eyes to keep Keith from questioning where Lance could be going with this. “And I’m not… grateful, really, for the abyss. But—” Lance sighs and it brings him closer, his fingers coming up to play at the curve of Keith’s bottom lip. “I _am_ grateful for whatever helped you find this much peace, Keith. It suits you.”

Lance’s fingers follow the swell of Keith’s lip as he smiles, leaning his forehead far enough to meet Lance’s own before closing his eyes. “It was no _one thing_, Lance—growth comes from experiences, and I had two years’ worth. But,” Keith swallows and Lance’s fingers trace the movement, “one of the biggest things was how much I wanted to do right by you.”

“Keith,” Lance breathes out, the word nearly reverent, before their lips are meeting with a soft press. This is starting to become the new normal between them and yet Keith still reels at the novelty of tenderness with every slow glide of their tongues. Lance’s fingers skirt the cut of Keith’s jaw before his thumb is stroking his chin, pulling Keith back. “You make resisting temptation absolutely impossible,” Lance groans, but there’s too much affection warming the admonishment for it to be effective.

“Would this be a good time to ask you to spend the night with me?” Keith asks, trying to keep his hope out of the question; he doesn’t want to pressure Lance after they already crossed all of their own lines not even 48 hours after setting them, but the thought of going back to his own room—alone—has Keith already dreading the night ending.

Lance just stares at him, his mouth a little slack, before he’s huffing out a laugh. “I guess it would be a shame not to fall asleep to this beautiful view,” Lance concedes, his arm flying in an arcing gesture towards the bay windows that still show the violent cloud of activity they’re stealing power from.

Keith can’t be bothered to watch the cosmic phenomenon however when the movement has Lance leaning back on his palms, his shoulders stretching wide as he watches the dance outside the ship continue on. “My thoughts exactly,” Keith agrees absently, his eyes tracking the mesmerizing way Lance’s hair is sticking in messy curls from sweat.

When Lance looks back to say something, his eyes meet Keith’s intense admiration and a blush blooms across Lance’s cheeks at the stare. “We really oughta talk first if you’re going to just keep _looking_ at me like that, _jesus_.” Lance laughs but it’s a strained thing, becoming even more strangled as he drops his head forward to hang toward his chest to escape Keith’s eyes.

Keith instead just watches the way Lance’s arm stretches so he can scratch the back of his neck, ruffling the hair Keith wants to bury his hands in so very badly.

“Alright,” Keith agrees easily, shifting to prop himself up a little more against the headboard in an attempt to look like he’s paying more attention. Lance almost looks convinced, too.

Lance lets out a quick exhale, as if steeling himself, and Keith almost finds it cute that he still feels nervous to say anything to Keith after _that_—_almost_, if it wasn’t for the deep need to erase any uncertainty from Lance regarding _them_ stirring in Keith’s chest.

“So you know, I assume we’re dating...” Lance pauses a little too long so Keith gives a nod and amused smile at the unspoken question, “Right, yes, we _are_ dating now. And this—” Lance gestures between them as he twists his body to face Keith better. “This is great so far. I… really appreciate all your effort to communicate with me, Keith,” Lance says and it starts with an excited eagerness that had Keith smiling softly, but by the time Lance is finished and looking Keith in the eyes like _that_, Keith knows he’s too completely gone for this boy.

“Thank you for giving me the chance to,” Keith murmurs, that delicate warmth in his chest growing as he watches Lance’s eyes melt with something too complex for Keith to even try to comprehend—all he can process right now is _Lance_ giving him a look like _that_ right after the best orgasm of his life so far.

“It’s been my pleasure,” Lance jokes but it’s too heated with double meaning not to kindle the fire already starting to lick back up Keith’s ribs. Lance clears his throat and Keith tries to force it to clear out all the flames in his lungs too. “But, my point being… what do we even _call_ this, though?”

Keith blinks at him, and suddenly all that fire turns to smoke at the question. “You’ve lost me.”

“I mean,” Lance takes a deep breath, and releases it with, “Like, we don’t exactly feel like newly-minted boyfriends you know? Like—okay, would this be our anniversary?” Lance asks emphatically, his hands swinging with the words. Keith doesn’t think he’s actually supposed to answer that. He’s proven right when Lance scoots closer, something a little more than intense in his eyes as he continues.

“But that doesn’t really feel right, you know? Like, sure, I know we weren’t _boyfriends_ this entire time but also we weren’t… we were _something_, okay? And I don’t want to pretend like all that didn’t happen, but also I—I don’t know if I’m proud enough of everything that’s happened between us to still call it a _relationship_.” By the end Lance has to suck in a breath and Keith’s hands come forward automatically to pat him on the back.

“Remember to breathe,” Keith says with very little laughter in his voice. Lance nods hurriedly, trying to wave everything off.

“No, yeah, sorry. I guess—yeah, I mean I guess I just got caught up in my head there for a little while and—not that I was worrying while we, uh, _yeah_,” Lance is quick to amend, his face lighting up at the mention of earlier.

Keith knows Lance has always had issues with anxiety and wants so badly to give him some assurance—something to make him know it’s _okay_ to need to ask things, to _rely_ on him—

“Come here,” Keith rasps, reaching out until his fingers curl around Lance’s arm—then it’s all momentum and compliance as Lance lets himself be pulled back down against the pillows, Keith’s arm urging him close. It only takes a second of convincing—and his brain catching up with the sudden movement—before Lance is pressing himself up against Keith’s side eagerly, tucking himself under Keith’s chin with a sigh.

“Damn, missed this too,” Lance mutters and Keith can feel the way the words move his lips, right up against Keith’s pulse. Keith lets Lance situate himself however he needs; honestly, he’s not sure how best to use his body for this type of comfort since he hasn’t had enough experience with it to form any muscle memory.

Still, Keith has to admit he’s pretty keen to letting this feeling settle into his bones—sealed in with his other senses, letting it seep into every fiber; he can easily imagine what it would be like to learn how every inch of Lance feels against every inch of himself.

And it’s that kind of imagination that has Keith pliable against the pillows and headboard, letting Lance settle himself against every line of Keith’s chest and side. There’s a sigh between them but Keith isn’t sure if it’s him or Lance, or if somehow their bodies relaxed as one.

“Better?” Keith asks into the crown of Lance’s head, his arm coming up to wrap around Lance’s broad shoulders.

Keith feels Lance’s nod. “Yeah,” Lance agrees, something small but sure against Keith’s neck.

“Alright.” Keith’s thumb finds the ball of Lance’s shoulder, rubbing soothing lines into the warm skin. “So, for the record,” Keith starts, hiding a smile in Lance’s hair, “I think you’re thinking too much about this.” Keith only gives Lance enough time to huff against Keith’s neck before he continues on, “Look, I get not everything we’ve done together is considered… healthy, I guess. Especially for you, where we are in time,” Keith says, trying to find the right words. Lance gives him time, one of his hands coming up to trace nonsensical patterns across Keith’s chest in the meantime.

“But…” Keith tries, swallowing, “I don’t think that’s a reason to shy away from it. _Everything_ I’ve ever done—however misguided—is because I love you, Lance. I may not be proud of the actions that love took the form of, but I learned from it and I grew. I don’t want to regret _any_ time I got to spend with you.”

Keith doesn’t realize what he’s said until Lance pulls back and is staring at him—eyes wide, mouth slowing opening on words that don’t seem to come—and even then, it takes Keith mentally replaying his words before it hits him.

Keith freezes and considers for a split second if it’d be worth it to try and take back what he’s released between them, but he ultimately decides to let the beast free; there’s a wild and fiery impulse streaking through his veins that’s begging to see where it goes.

So instead of letting his internal turmoil color his expression, Keith lets the confession sink in for Lance with quiet determination. Nothing but truth rings through the words, and even if Keith thinks it’s too soon to let Lance know how much control he has over Keith’s heart, there’s no regret beginning to burn anywhere in Keith.

“You love me.” It isn’t a question, but Lance eyes him like it is.

“I do. I have.” Keith swallows, something thick in his throat that’s dangerously shaped like _I always will. _

Lance searches Keith’s face, and Keith searches right back. He doesn’t know what Lance is looking for, but Keith is determined to find a place for Lance to see everything Keith has to give—every intention, every fuck up, every want and _need_ and—Keith _has_ to let Lance know it’s all his, if he wants it.

There’s so much that fleets across Lance’s face—all of it warm enough to still be bright, but Keith can tell there’s something stifling Lance’s excitement. “I—” Lance swallows, and Keith watches the way it moves his throat. “Keith, I can’t even describe how _happy_ that makes me to hear but—” Keith watches Lance’s eyes dull as his smile drops. “It’s just, I’m not sure—I mean, I—”

Keith reaches a hand between them, urging Lance back to his side. This time however Lance is hesitant, his brows pulled down over his eyes in concern. Finally, Keith drops his hand and sighs.

“It’s okay, Lance. I’ve had… well, a while to get used to the idea of my feelings for you. You’ve had what, two days? To think of me more than a possible one night stand,” Keith says sardonically, but there’s an edge of hurt to the words that finally has Lance moving back toward him.

“I’ve _never_ thought of you like—”

“I know, I know,” Keith says with a small, exasperated smile as he wraps his arm back around Lance’s shoulders. Lance finally adjusts for a few lengthy moments until Keith places a light kiss to the crown of his head. Lance freezes at the touch, before finally settling in completely again.

Lance’s hand is coming up to rest on Keith’s stomach, his fingers idle with light touches across the skin. Those fingers start making their way up Keith’s sternum before finding the steady heartbeat in Keith’s chest and spreading across it.

Finally, Lance whispers, “I’m just not sure if I can _say_ it yet.” He takes a deep breath in before releasing it slowly, and the air tickles across Keith’s chest. Lance’s voice is small and sure when he says, “But that doesn’t mean that isn’t how I feel, you know?

Keith’s chest swells with pride and affection, pressing right up against his ribs in its insistence. It feels like all that pressure is trying to expand _beyond_ Keith, to soak in the sun of a reality where Lance feels the same way towards him.

“I know,” Keith’s voice is rough but he says it again, “I know.”

And he _does_—Lance is every potential Keith never saw for himself, and it doesn’t matter if Lance can’t love him back yet; Keith loves Lance, and either way he wants a future with him. Lance held onto Keith for whatever small potential he still saw in him back then, so Keith thinks the very least he can do is be patient with this. Keith is willing to trust that potential he sees in Lance now too—willing to invest in this future with Lance, and trust Lance will tell him whenever he’s ready along the way.

And Keith is ready to enjoy that ride.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope all the angst lately was worth it for this LOL. Someone commented that they were afraid of being happy with this series since in the last part Klance got together early and then broke up--and while I don't want to spoil anything--I don't want anyone reading this part worried about Klance. I have more tricks up my sleeve for our boys than just that kind of twist, don't you worry. 
> 
> And really, while part one focused on a very internal conflict, this part of the series is starting to delve into more external forces of conflict. I really hope you all enjoy where I'm taking all of the show with this, really--and hope that you can enjoy our boys in this without the tension of getting together, because trust me, new relationships have their own special kind of attention. 
> 
> Anyway, I realized this series has been around for two years! Holy hell Batman, like woah. I sincerely appreciate any of you who have stuck around from the beginning. If you ever wonder, I *do* notice when you originally commented on part 1 and followed, and it warms my heart so much to think there are people who like something I created enough to do that. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading so far, and I really hope I can continue to entertain you for the rest of this long ride my dudes <3


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